


all your tenderness

by belovedmuerto



Series: in the shadow of your heart [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Makeouts, POV Steve Rogers, Softness, Steve Rogers Gets a Hug, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Recovering, Tenderness, cuddle fic, industrial size pharmaceutical grade softness, slow burn cuddling, slowly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-10 12:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19504117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: In which they watch a lot of TV and Steve is very happy, so happy he really doesn't know what to do with himself.





	all your tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> welp remember that one shot i wrote a few months back? turns out there's more of it, and here it is. in theory there's going to be a third part as well, but that should be it? i guess we'll see.
> 
> this is unbeta'd, so any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault and also possibly on purpose. I meant to finish editing in time to post this yesterday, but i decided to celebrate the 4th with angry orchard instead.
> 
> happy belated birthday Steve! <3

Steve is awake and thinking. He’s not thinking particularly hard, because he’s not entirely awake, but he is comfortable and warm and covered more or less in Bucky. It’s early, a bit earlier than he gets up most days, but he’s fairly certain he’s not going to get anymore sleep.

Bucky is still out like a light, one leg draped over both of Steve’s, arm thrown across his chest. It had taken a little while to get here, from that first night Bucky had slept in his bed with him, and Steve has cherished every single night of it, despite the nightmares they’ve both had, despite the bad days, missed sleep, the to-be-expected hiccups. There have been a couple of those, from both of them, but they’ve kept going. Bucky has had to sleep in his own bed a few times. 

Steve doesn’t sleep at all, those nights.

Overall, things have been really good. Steve feels light, all the time. Like he’s filled with helium, about to float away, tethered to the earth only by Bucky. Even when he’s utterly overwhelmed with his own emotions and feeling guilty about how he’s mooning over Bucky, he still feels lighter than air and, he thinks, happy.

He doesn’t remember ever feeling this way before, or Before. He’s not entirely sure he trusts it just yet.

Bucky shifts against him, making a little happy noise in his sleep, and Steve realizes he’s a little bit uncomfortable. Or rather, too comfortable. He glances down the bed at himself and shifts a little, but that doesn’t help at all.

_It’s fine_ , he thinks. _It’s just morning wood, it’ll go down before Buck wakes up._

It’s happened before, for sure. Fairly frequently, in fact. Steve’s not dead, and it’s been a long time since he shared his bed with another person. No matter what their relationship is, it’s a natural sort of reaction.

For a few moments, Steve just lays still and breathes through it, trying to keep his thoughts calm. Trying to keep his thoughts from wandering to Bucky.

It sort of works, right up to the point where Bucky moves again, and Steve realizes he’s not the only one who’s affected this morning.

His brain shorts out for a moment, and then Bucky moves again, undulating against him and this is not great. This is very uncomfortable for a variety of reasons that Steve does not want to think about right now.

“Buck,” he says, and his voice comes out a squeak. “Wake up.”

Bucky shifts and snorts and opens his eyes. Steve doesn’t know how he does it, wakes up that quickly and seemingly completely. For a moment they just stare at each other, before the penny drops and Bucky’s eyes go wide and he starts to—

Steve’s not sure what Bucky’s gonna do but whatever it is he doesn’t want it to happen. He reaches out and lays one hand against Bucky’s neck, which stops him dead in his tracks.

Bucky glances down the bed at himself and then looks back at Steve. He looks like the human embodiment of about twelve exclamation marks.

“Hey,” Steve says, soft, looking Bucky directly in the eye and trying not to blush because this is so awkward and yet completely, wonderfully normal. He could laugh in sheer joy if he wasn’t afraid Bucky would punch him in the face and then disappear for two days. “It’s ok.”

Bucky scowls, both at Steve and then at himself.

“It’s normal?” Steve tries, not sure what else to say, but certain that he doesn’t want to lose this little piece of intimacy they’ve been sharing. He would give anything right now to keep Bucky sleeping in his bed every night. All the hiccups aside, he thinks it’s the best sleep he’s had since he woke up in the future.

Bucky’s scowl turns into a glare. “Hasn’t fuckin been,” he growls. His voice is rough with sleep, and he blinks a little owlishly.

“Oh,” Steve says. Because what else can he say. “Um, congratulations?”

Bucky punches him in the shoulder, and then rolls onto his front and turns his face into his pillow. (Steve already thinks of it as Bucky’s pillow. He’s a goner. No hope left.)

(He’s ok with that.)

It takes a few moments, but Steve eventually realizes that Bucky’s shoulders are shaking. Is he laughing?

“Buck?” He puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, a safe enough spot these days, now that Bucky’s much better about physical contact. “Are you ok? Are you laughing?” 

Bucky turns his face towards Steve and lifts a hand to wipe at his eyes, still giggling.

“It’s normal,” he wheezes. “Fuckin’ normal, Stevie.”

Steve’s not sure why that’s so funny, but Bucky’s laughter is contagious, and soon enough Steve’s giggling too.

Every time one of them starts to calm down they meet each other’s eyes and that sets them off again, in a cycle of giggling, for a solid ten minutes, leaving Steve with aching abs and tears on his face.

He flops over onto his stomach, tucking his arms up against his sides, mirroring Bucky, and Bucky smiles at him, soft and beautiful. Both of them take deep breaths as the giggles finally subside, and they fall quiet.

“Normal,” Bucky says again, with a little scoff, after a while of just looking at him. “Ain’t neither of us normal, Stevie. Nothin’ about us.”

Steve wants to say something, but Bucky’s right. Then again, is anyone normal, really?

He shrugs, and Bucky keeps smiling that soft smile at him.

“Nice to know my dick’s not totally broken though, I guess.”

Steve snorts in surprise, and then has to hide his own face in his pillow to smother his blush. He can feel Bucky shuffle over closer to him, feel him leaning over towards him.

“You sure do blush pretty, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs next to his ear.

Steve blushes even harder, and keeps his face hidden.

Bucky chuckles a little, and Steve can feel his breath on the side of his face. He turns his head just enough to peek at him from the corner of one eye. Bucky is smiling, his own eyes shut, and Steve can’t help but inch a little closer on the bed.

He can’t help himself, now that Bucky’s made it clear that physical affection is ok the vast majority of the time and that he likes it when Steve touches him. He wants to be touching Bucky _all the time_ , and rarely does he fight that desire. Now that Bucky’s ok with it, Steve intends to keep doing it until he runs into that time when it’s not ok. So far, it hasn’t happened. Steve dreads the day it does, but somewhere deep down he’s certain that they’ll be ok even when that day comes. They will figure it out, make it work. 

Bucky opens his eyes, still smiling at Steve, and inches a little closer too. They are bare breaths apart, and it would require almost zero effort for Steve to lean over and kiss him.

He wants to, but he’s not sure if that’s ok.

Bucky must see it though, must see Steve glancing at his lips (repeatedly. He’s practically staring, like the unsubtle desperate person he is), because his smile goes a little sad. 

“I’m not there yet, Stevie,” he murmurs, voice laced with regret.

Steve doesn’t move away, but he does meet Bucky’s eyes. “That’s ok, Buck. I’m here when you are.”

Bucky’s brow furrows, frustrated or confused. “Even if it takes forever?”

Steve nods, more certain than he’s been about just about anything since he came out of the ice. “Even if it takes forever,” he confirms.

It’s Bucky’s turn to blush, which is. Edifying. Especially considering he doesn’t blush as easily as Steve does. Steve grins at him, and Bucky gives him a little shove. 

“Shut up, punk,” he says.

Steve just keeps grinning at him, and then looking at him, just taking him in: disheveled hair, soft smile, beautiful face.

“I should go for a run,” he says eventually.

Bucky makes a face. “Have fun with that.”

Steve pouts a little. “You don’t wanna go with me?”

“Nope.” Bucky rolls away, dispelling the little bubble they’d been in, and pulls the covers over himself.

Steve gives him a gentle pat and gets up. Much as he’d like to lay about in bed with Bucky for as much of the day as possible, he knows he needs to go run off some of his energy. If he doesn’t it will drive him mad (and he will inevitably drive Bucky mad).

—

When he gets back from his run, he goes to the kitchen first to get a glass of water to drink. He’ll need to eat soon, but for a few minutes he is content to stand at the sink taking deep breaths and gulping down water. He’d pushed himself this morning, because all he really wanted the whole time he was running was to come back home to Bucky.

Of course, he finally makes it home and the house is quiet and still. Bucky isn’t in the kitchen or the living room or in their home gym, so Steve assumes that he’d gone back to sleep. He’s a little disappointed but he knows damn well Bucky’s been spoiling the shit out of him lately so he tells himself it’s silly to feel that way just because Bucky went back to sleep instead of what? Having breakfast waiting for Steve when he got back home?

He feels like an asshole. Bucky’s not his housekeeper. Steve resolves to make sure he’s doing his part to help out with the cooking and cleaning more, standing at the sink frowning at his glass of water. 

Bucky’s hands slide around him and Bucky presses himself against Steve’s back, squeezing him just tight enough as to be comforting and grounding.

It’s like he always knows exactly what Steve needs.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s probably not true,” Bucky mumbles into his back. Steve can feel him rub his nose against his back, which is probably objectively gross but it feels amazing anyway and he’s not gonna tell Bucky to stop even if he does smell like sweat and exertion.

“Do I expect too much of you?” Steve asks. “I was a little disappointed that I got home and you weren’t making breakfast. I shouldn’t expect that of you, should I?”

Bucky squeezes him a little tighter for a moment. “I _like_ making breakfast for you, Stevie,” he says softly.

Steve tries to turn around so he can look at Bucky, but Bucky doesn’t let him, tightening his grip enough to let him know to stay. He sighs. “I don’t wanna take advantage of you, Buck. I can take care of myself, yanno?”

He can feel Bucky sigh behind him. “This again? Steve.” He sighs again.

Steve waits for him to go on.

“It’s not taking advantage,” Bucky says eventually. “I promise. Do you think I wouldn’t say something if I felt like that?”

“No,” Steve says, slowly. Is he sure? Does he know that?

“I like cooking for us. I’m better at it than you.”

Steve jerks a little, trying to turn around again. Bucky still doesn’t let him. “I’m good at breakfast!” 

Bucky nods and gives him another squeeze. “You are. Do you want to make us breakfast today?”

It feels like Bucky is placating him, but he knows that’s not it. Bucky is trying to show him that they’re in this together, he thinks. He can handle that. Hopefully. He’s certainly going to try. 

“Yes,” Steve says. Then he goes on, “Sometimes I worry that you do a lot for me and I don’t really do much for you.”

There, he said it. He hadn’t even realized how much it was worrying him until the words come tumbling out of his mouth, catching him a little bit by surprise.

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky breathes into his back. It’s a little bit sad, a little bit admonishing. “You have no idea how much you do for me, pal.”

“Yeah?” God, he’s getting all choked up now. He takes a big gulp of water, and almost chokes on it. He’s shaking a little bit, and he has to put the glass down on the counter so he can lay his arms over Bucky’s, holding onto him as much as he can. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets it out slowly. Bucky shifts so he can lace his fingers with Steve’s.

“Yeah,” Bucky assures him. He goes back to rubbing his face in Steve’s sweaty back, and Steve breathes, and breathes, and breathes, until he’s calmed down again.

“Can you make those biscuits?” he asks, eventually, when his stomach has started to really rumble.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Put the coffee on?”

“You got it.”

They both get to work on breakfast.

—

The rest of the day isn’t nearly so emotionally fraught, at least not for Steve.

They spend it quietly for the most part. Bucky is working on something on his laptop; Steve doesn’t know what it is and he doesn’t think it’s quite appropriate to ask. 

He doesn’t want to butt in, even if he does want to know what it is that has Bucky so deep in concentration, that adorable little furrow between his brows. 

Steve works on some sketches while Bucky does whatever it is he’s doing. A couple of the sketches are definitely of Bucky, but he’s also noodling around with a little character design, and some rough sketches of what he thinks might be a series of paintings— four, maybe, or five.

In the afternoon, they go for a walk. The weather isn’t great for it, a little too warm and sticky, but it’s better than the alternative, or at least Steve thinks so.

Even Bucky makes concessions to the weather: gym shorts and a long sleeve tee shirt, hair pulled back in a messy bun and a pink snapback that says “baby” on it, along with the raybans sunglasses he’d acquired somewhere. The shorts are a lurid green, and the shirt is plain black, and somehow he doesn’t look at all a mess.

Actually, Steve has no idea where he got any of it, but whatever. He thinks Bucky looks cute, anyway.

He always thinks Bucky looks cute, though.

They have no real destination in mind on these walks, so they just wander, mostly in companionable silence. 

Later, when they’ve returned home and Bucky has showered and changed into what Steve thinks of as his comfy at home clothes (they’re all so soft! Steve just wants to run his hands over him all the time!), they end up in the kitchen. Bucky starts rummaging through cabinets and the refrigerator. He’s muttering to himself, and Steve is pretty sure he’s trying to decide what to make for dinner.

Whatever it is, it will be amazing. Bucky really is a great cook. He’s far better at it than Steve.

Steve sits at the table for a bit, chin in his hand, watching Bucky. When it looks like he’s decided what he’s making, Steve speaks up.

“Can I help?”

Bucky smiles at him. “Sure, come wash and chop potatoes for me, sweetheart.”

“You need ‘em peeled too?” Steve asks as he gets up and heads for the pile of potatoes next to the sink.

“Nah, I’m gonna roast them. Did I order brussels sprouts last week?”

“Dunno, Buck.”

Bucky makes a humming noise and goes hunting for brussels sprouts. He finds some and returns triumphant to add them to the pile next to the potatoes. “Chop these for me too?”

“Sure thing, Buck.” For a moment, Steve watches him move around the kitchen, confident and at ease. He thinks about kissing him.

“Get your ass in gear, Rogers,” Bucky says, giving him a mock-stern look.

Steve looks at his lips for a moment, and then shakes himself. “Yeah, Buck.” He gets his ass in gear.

Bucky keeps giving him instructions as he goes about putting things together, and though it takes a while because of all the roasting--especially of the whole chicken--dinner turns out pretty spectacular, and Steve is a little bit proud of his contribution to it. Bucky more or less ignores the way Steve keeps looking at him the whole time, although he is dead certain that Bucky has seen it, and that he knows what it means. He doesn’t say anything about it, though.

Steve understands. Bucky has already told him: he’s not there yet.

Steve can wait. He might not be super patient about it (he might be jerking off _a lot_ right now), but he can wait as long as Bucky needs him to.

Steve goes back to being proud of helping out with dinner when they sit down to eat and everything tastes amazing and Steve had a hand in that, even if it was just a small hand. Bucky smiles at him over his plate, and then says, “I think someone just texted you.”

It takes a minute to filter through the miasma of lust Steve’s been existing in for the entire afternoon, but it does eventually process. “Oh,” he says. “I’ll check it later.”

“Might be important,” Bucky point out.

Steve shrugs. “There’s an alarm, if it’s that important. I’ll check after dinner.”

Bucky shrugs, and tucks into his food.

Steve’s phone goes off a couple more times while they eat, but Steve keeps ignoring it. He doesn’t want to abandon Bucky during the dinner they’d made together. The dinner that Bucky had mostly put together, but Steve had helped with. Whatever, whoever it is, he’s sure it can wait.

\--

Turns out, it was Natasha and Sam both texting him. He sees Natasha’s text first:

‘ **STRAT MTG ASAP** ’

is all it says. Steve has to laugh a little, and Bucky looks over at him from his spot on the couch. Steve shows him the text and Bucky furrows his brow.

“Strategy meeting ASAP? Sounds important,” he observes, and Steve shakes his head.

“The urgency of her texts is usually inversely proportional to the actual situation.”

He takes a moment and texts back a shrug emoji.

“What does it mean then?” Bucky asks.

“It used to mean one of two things: either we’d go out for coffee or lunch and hang out. She’d complain about work or tell me SHIELD gossip or whatever. Or else she was headed out on mission and wanted to run her plans by me and hear what I would do in the same situation.”

Bucky makes a face. “Punch people a lot, I would imagine.”

“I am occasionally ok with tactics too, Buck.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, and Steve sticks his tongue out at him.

“I don’t really know why she would ask me what I’d do, we have completely different skill sets. I think maybe it just helped her to talk it through with someone else.”

Bucky shrugs.

Another text from Natasha comes through. 

**Thursday, 1pm.**

It’s followed by a set of coordinates.

He could go dig up a map and actually plot them himself but frankly no one has time for that, so Steve plugs them into Google maps instead because after all, it’s the goddamn future.

The goddamn future has its perks.

The coordinates are for his house. He laughs a little at that, and looks over to Bucky. 

“I think Nat wants to come over for lunch.”

Bucky shrugs, absolutely no expression on his face.

Steve waits a minute, but Bucky doesn’t say anything. He picks at the blanket over his lap a little, and generally avoids Steve’s gaze.

“Are you ok with that, Buck?”

Bucky shrugs, but doesn’t answer.

“Natasha’s one of my best friends, Buck. I’d like you to meet her.”

Bucky looks at him, finally. He looks sad, and Steve doesn’t know why. “I remember her, a little.”

That catches Steve off-guard. “From DC?”

Bucky smiles a little, still sad. “A little. And from before.”

“Before… what?”

Bucky smiles again, even more sadly. “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he says, quiet but firm.

Steve wants to press, but he bites his tongue. Bucky has every right to his privacy, to not want to talk to him about things from his past.

Is Natasha a person from his past? 

Steve doesn’t know.

“It’s ok if she comes over for lunch,” Bucky adds after a few moments. “I want to meet your friends.”

Steve decides to take this at face value. When he looks at Bucky, he sees no hint of artifice. He nods. “If you change your mind just let me know, Buck. It’s ok if you’re not ready.”

Bucky scoots over and lays his head on Steve’s shoulder. “I know,” he says. He picks up the remote and turns on the tv.

Steve shifts a little, settles into the couch more comfortably, and leans a little against Bucky, leans his own head against Bucky’s. He turns his attention to the other text message he’d gotten, from Sam.

‘Movie night comin up at the tower you in? Bring ya boy.’

Steve turns his phone so Bucky can see Sam’s text. He doesn’t so much see as feel Bucky scrunch up his face. He’s not sure if it’s in regards to Sam, going to the Tower, or being around people. Maybe it’s all three.

“So that’s a no, then?” he asks.

Bucky shrugs, but Steve knows he means yes. He’s a little sad, but he’s also not quite ready himself to break the little bubble that they’ve been living in, where it’s just them. It’s just Bucky learning to be ok again, and Steve trying to soak up every ounce of affection Bucky’s offered him and do his best to offer a little bit of it back.

He doesn’t quite know how he’s doing, but he hopes he’s doing ok. Bucky hasn’t told him to stop, at least. And he seems more comfortable with casual contact than he used to be, a little bit more comfortable every day.

The sharing a bed almost every night doesn’t hurt, either.

He wakes his phone back up and taps out a response to Sam. ‘Sorry, not this time. Raincheck?’

Sam’s response comes through in moments. ‘Sure no prob, lmk when you’re free. We miss yer ugly mug around here.’

Steve feels guilty immediately. He misses his friends, too. His team. He sees them often enough for work stuff, but he hasn’t been spending any real, significant social time with them.

He especially misses Nat and Sam. He doesn’t know what to do about it, because the idea of leaving Bucky for anything other than work absolutely requiring him fills him with a sense of dread that borders on panic.

Bucky shifts next to him, sitting up, and Steve looks at him. He’s looking steadily at him, and Steve knows he’s reading everything he’s feeling on his face. 

They may both be new people, different than they were in youth (and so much older it’s hard to contemplate sometimes, years or no years), but Bucky still knows him better than anyone else, better than he knows himself, he’s fairly sure.

“What’s wrong, Stevie?”

Steve shrugs and looks away. It’s hard to put in words.

Bucky puts his hand on the back of Steve’s neck and squeezes, just enough that Steve takes a deep breath, almost involuntary. He lets it out slowly and looks at him again.

“I miss my friends, but the thought of leaving you for anything not absolutely necessary is— not good.”

Bucky smiles at him, soft and fond. “You dope.”

Steve frowns a little, “Hey.”

“Invite Sam over here,” Bucky suggests. “It’s your house, have your friends over.”

“It’s your house too, Buck. I don’t want you to feel--” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want you to feel unsafe at home.”

Bucky makes a face at him, and Steve knows how ridiculous Bucky thinks he’s being.

“Ask Sam over for lunch or something, Stevie. I’ll be fine. If I can handle the spider, I can handle Sam.”

Steve just looks at him for a moment, but Bucky only stares back, a stubborn tilt to his chin that Steve is pretty sure he’d picked up from Steve.

They really do live in each other’s pockets these days.

Still, he’s ok with that.

“Ok,” he concedes, picking up his phone to text Sam again. ‘Wanna come over for lunch soon?’

Again, Sam’s response is almost immediate. ‘Hell yeah, when is good for you?’

Steve looks over at Bucky again; Bucky’s still watching him. His expression is calm, so Steve hopes he’s ok with this, and not just doing it to make him feel better. “This weekend ok, Buck?” 

Bucky smiles. “I got no plans.”

“Ok.” Steve turns back to his phone. ‘This weekend? Saturday maybe?’

‘Works for me. See you at about noon?’

‘Sounds good! See you then!’ Steve cringes a little at all the exclamation points.

Sam sends back a laughing emoji and a thumbs up emoji.

Steve puts down his phone, and Bucky crowds into his space almost immediately, pushing him over on the couch and cuddling into him. He grabs the remote from… somewhere and turns on the TV.

Steve drifts under the weight of him, comforted and warm, lulled by the sound of the TV in the background.

—

The next couple of days pass quietly. Steve has begun working on a new painting, and it is easy to get lost in the act of painting for hours and hours at a time, until Bucky shows up with a little frown between his eyes, gently drawing Steve out of the art fugue and back into the real world. Usually with food.

Bucky’s really been knocking it out of the park with his cooking lately. Steve is grateful that his caloric needs are frankly insane, because Bucky’s cooking is impossible to say no to, and he always makes enough for a family of four.

He remembers sometimes the first little while when he was out of the ice, before Nat started dragging him out to try different restaurants first in NY and then continuing when they both got assigned to DC— Bucky hasn’t made falafel yet, maybe he’ll ask for it sometime soon— his diet was not great. He ate whatever was available and he didn’t care if it was delicious or in any way enjoyable, he just ate because he needed to.

Now he really gets why people call themselves foodies, even if he thinks it’s kinda pretentious. He probably is one, and Bucky too, though he doesn’t know if Bucky even knows the term. He imagines that even if he did, Bucky wouldn’t claim it for himself.

\--

Thursday comes around before he’s ready for it, and Steve finds himself a little nervous about Natasha coming for lunch.

He doesn’t know why, but it churns in his stomach like guilt, and he extends his jog that morning by several miles to try and run some of the nervous energy off.

It doesn’t really work.

Bucky’s in the kitchen when Steve gets home, sweaty, his heart racing more from the nerves than exertion. He takes one look at Steve and crosses the room to pull him into a hug.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Steve says, and it comes out far more honest than he’d meant it to. Whoops.

Bucky just holds him, and after a few moments, it helps. Steve lets it help. He stands in the kitchen and matches his breathing to Bucky’s and his heart slows down to more or less normal, eventually.

“Have some coffee,” Bucky instructs.

Steve obeys, and then sits down at the kitchen table to watch Bucky cook for a little while. 

They both spend a lot of time in the kitchen these days. Bucky is usually making something, and Steve is usually watching, or at least he’s sitting at the table with whatever it is he’s doing: paperwork, or reading, or sketching. When Bucky allows it, he helps out.

There was a while where he’d been more insistent on helping in the kitchen, because he felt guilty that Bucky does pretty much all of the cooking, but as the months have gone by and Bucky has gotten more comfortable with himself, better able to express himself and let Steve know that he doesn’t need to help with every meal, it’s dropped off some. 

It’s pretty clear how much he enjoys cooking, whereas Steve just doesn’t, and Steve is learning that they each care for the other in their own ways. Cooking is one of those ways for Bucky.

Being a human pillow seems to be one of those ways for Steve. It doesn’t always feel equal to Steve, and he does worry a bit about it. But Bucky has also worked hard to establish his boundaries with Steve, and keeps encouraging Steve to do the same with him. He’s fairly certain that Bucky would not leave it unsaid if he started to feel like Steve wasn’t doing his part to take care of himself and Bucky.

Steve also does all the laundry, which is much easier now that they’re basically sharing a room. 

Bucky wears a lot of his clothes, some weeks. 

He sets a plate heaped with breakfast foods down in front of Steve, and Steve doesn’t wait for him. Bucky chides him when he lets his food go cold waiting for Bucky to join him. It’s really only an issue at breakfast time, for whatever reason.

Steve is more or less finished when Bucky sits down next to him with his own food, and Steve refills both of their coffee mugs and sits back down to enjoy his second cup while Bucky eats. Bucky tucks his ankle behind Steve’s, and it settles something in him that is only ever appeased when they’re touching.

“What does Natalia eat,” Bucky says around a mouthful of food. It doesn’t really come out like a question, but Steve gets it.

Steve thinks on it a moment. “I don’t think she’s very picky?”

Bucky makes a face at him. “You’re no help, Stevie.”

Steve shrugs.

Bucky changes tack. “How much does she eat?”

“That seems like a rude question, Buck.”

Bucky makes another face at him, clearly indicating that if he wasn’t busy feeding himself he’d be throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Does she eat like we do?”

Steve gets it at that. “Oh! No, not like us. I’d say, like an athletic person?”

Bucky considers a moment. “Fun runner or like, olympics.”

“Olympics?”

Bucky nods. “Sandwiches and salad ok for lunch?”

“Buck, you don’t need to make lunch for us.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows at him.

“We could. Order pizza?”

Bucky doesn’t deign to respond to that. 

Steve, properly abashed, finishes his coffee and gets up to do the dishes. 

Once he’s finished eating his own breakfast, Bucky gets up and puts his dishes in the dishwasher. He nudges Steve away from the sink with a hip-bump, and says, “Go on and get showered and dressed. I’ve got stuff to do in here.”

“You don’t need any help?” Steve asks. He always asks, even though Bucky doesn’t usually need any help, and Steve’s fairly certain he does better when Steve doesn’t help him.

“I’m good, we don’t want to poison your friend,” Bucky teases. He softens it with a smile, and Steve smiles back.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Steve says, as he heads out of the kitchen and upstairs to shower.

His nerves come back while he’s in the shower, not quite as bad as they were when he woke up that morning. He tries to ignore them as much as he can while he finishes his shower and gets dressed. He goes back down to the kitchen, where Bucky’s at work making… bread, apparently.

“Wait, you’re making bread?” he asks.

Bucky glances at him and shrugs. “It’s a quick bread. Better than store bought.”

He goes back to his kneading, and Steve pours himself a glass of water and sits down at the table to just sorta watch him making bread for lunch.

He thinks maybe Bucky loves him.

That’s probably a good thing, all of his own intense and all-consuming feelings considered.

Natasha shows up at 12:55, because of course she does. Steve knows her pretty well, or at least he knows her as well as she’s let him know her, and he knows that it’s a habit for her to show up just a little early, because it tends to catch people off guard.

He answers the door and she smiles at him, leans up and gives him a kiss on the cheek and breezes around him into the house. 

Steve can’t help but grin a little. He feels expansive all of a sudden, happy one of his best friends is in his house, happy with everything. Full of love.

He is a ridiculous person.

“Want me to show you around?” he asks her, in lieu of a greeting.

Natasha looks at him from where she’s hanging her jacket on one of the hooks in the entryway. “Sure, Rogers, give me the two dollar tour.”

“It’s a nickel max, Nat.” 

“Inflation, Steve,” she teases back.

Steve grins, and it’s probably a bit dopey on his face but he doesn’t try to suppress it, and Natasha smiles back at him and links her arm through his. Steve leads her around the ground floor, pointing things out. They head upstairs and he shows her the little home gym they put together, and points out the bedrooms without showing them to her--that’s a little private, right?--or pointing out that they’re more or less sharing one of them at this point.

It’s really not anyone’s business. And they’re not. They’re not _there_ yet. 

He doesn’t show her the third floor because it’s not finished yet, just empty rooms and a few boxes here and there, mostly stuff left behind by the previous owner of the house. He hasn’t really figured out what to do with that part of the house, and he hasn’t brought it up to Bucky yet.

They finish up the tour in the kitchen, where Bucky’s putting the finishing touches on a big bowl of salad, with a mountain of sandwiches piled up on the table already, and two places set. He’s got his own food on a plate on the counter.

“Buck, this is Natasha,” Steve introduces them, when Bucky turns from the counter.

Bucky nods once at her. It’s not overly friendly, but not especially rude either. Mostly.

“Nat, this is Bucky.”

Natasha nods at him once.

There’s a fine tension between them, shifting and hovering. Steve has no idea what it means. Finally, Bucky nods again and turns to grab his plate. He leaves without another word.

Steve looks over at Natasha with his eyebrows somewhere in the vicinity of his hairline but she just smiles and shrugs, enigmatic. 

“I’m hungry,” she announces.

Steve wants to pry, because it’s obvious that there’s some sort of history there, but no one seems to be forthcoming at the moment. He decides to let it go, at least for now.

It’s entirely possible neither of them really knows for sure. Natasha talks about the way her memories have been tampered with even less than Bucky does, or at least not to Steve.

“I could eat,” he says, and she snorts at him.

They sit at the table and tuck into the food Bucky had made for them. There are a lot of sandwiches, and Nat gives him a look over the pile of them.

Steve shrugs. “They’re mostly for me.”

“He do a lot of cooking?” Nat asks, faux curious.

Well, Steve thinks she’s actually curious, but assumes she’s also going somewhere with this. She hasn’t pitched her voice so as to carry, but she’s not whispering either. Steve doesn’t know if she knows they both have sharp (enhanced) hearing, but again he assumes she does.

Steve mostly assumes she knows everything, because despite protestations that she only acts like she knows everything… she usually knows everything. He’s at least half certain her secret superpower is actual omniscience.

He shrugs in response. “He likes cooking, and he’s much better at it than me. Why?”

She shrugs and munches at her sandwich. “This is really good.”

“Buck made the bread this morning.” He can’t help feeling a little thrill of pride at that. Bucky’s gotten especially good at bread in the last few months.

She blinks at him. “Bread-making is sorcery, Steve.”

He laughs, and she grins at him. “It’s really good, though.”

“He’s a really good cook. And baker.”

“And what are you good at?”

Steve shrugs, but she’s giving him a look that tells him she’s not gonna let him off the hook. He also knows she’s not asking exactly what she’s asking.

“I’m surprisingly good at laundry,” he admits. “And vacuuming.”

She smiles a little, and seems satisfied. He thinks maybe she wants to make sure one of them isn’t taking advantage of the other, and he appreciates it for all that she’ll never admit to wanting to make sure Steve is ok and doesn’t have a deadbeat roommate. Or maybe she’s making sure that Steve isn’t the deadbeat roommate. He can’t be certain which it is.

Bucky comes back in when they’re finishing up their food. Steve’s left a sandwich and a half behind, and he holds the plate out to offer them to Bucky when he appears. Bucky takes the plate with a smile at him and a glance at Natasha and leaves again.

Steve’s phone buzzes a moment later. ‘I’m upstairs hiding have fun with Natalia.’

Steve quickly responds, ‘ok but you can hang out with us if you want’

‘i know. have fun’

Steve shrugs and puts his phone down.

“Why does Bucky refer to you as Natalia?” he asks.

She smiles. “It’s my name.”

At Steve’s no doubt confused look, she laughs a little. “I’m Russian. Our nicknames tend to be longer than out actual names.” She shrugs. “He is perhaps being formal with me; you’d have to ask him.”

When they’re finished eating, Natasha helps him clean up the kitchen, and he starts coffee when she asks. When that’s done, they each prepare their own mugs and go out to the living room, sit together on the couch.

“So,” she asks, taking a sip of her coffee and looking at him over the rim. “How’s it going?”

He thinks she really is checking up on him, making sure he’s doing ok, and he realizes that he has been largely absent from his friends’ lives lately. He’s been so wrapped up in Bucky and his recovery and just. Wallowing in having Bucky back in his life. He’s neglected everything else.

He feels guilty, all of a sudden. And it hits him again just how much he’s missed his friends, despite how ecstatic he is that Bucky is here, and that they’re… whatever they are right now.

Steve is trying not to overthink that.

But. Anyway.

“Things are… good,” he says. He’s blushing, he can feel it. 

She smiles at him a little and raises one brow. “That good, eh?”

Steve’s blush goes incandescent, fire engine red, and Natasha smile widens. He can tell she knows she’s hit on something. Something she’s not going to forget. She does love to tease him. It took him awhile to figure it out, but she really does.

“It’s not--” Steve starts. He glares at her for a minute. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I know,” Natasha agrees readily enough. “But it’s fun making you blush like a tomato.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“No. I don’t.”

“How’s it going, really, Steve?”

Steve shrugs and takes a moment to really think about it. “Things really are pretty good. I know I’ve been pretty not around lately, with Buck comin’ back and me movin’ outta the tower. But things have been good. Bucky’s doing a lot better, I think. I mean, I know recovery isn’t linear, but he’s been having a good run.”

Natasha nods. “You’ve been missed, around the tower.”

Steve reaches out and covers her hand on her mug with his own. “I know. I’m gonna be better about that. Promise.”

“Good.”

They linger over their coffee for a bit, and when they’ve both finished, Steve takes her mug from her and goes to put both of them in the kitchen to deal with later.

Steve comes back and turns on the tv, which has become something of a habit, but he finds one of the music channels for some background noise instead of a program. He likes the light classical station lately. Bucky seems to like it, too.

Natasha does catch him up on the most recent gossip, although it’s all Avengers goings-on and not SHIELD since SHIELD is more or less no more— Steve’s fairly certain something of SHIELD will survive though. Something always does, with intelligence agencies.

Cut off one head— he doesn’t think that only applies to HYDRA in the modern world. (He also doesn't think that HYDRA isn’t a thing he’s going to have to deal with again, and probably sooner rather than later. He’s just doing his best not to borrow trouble for the time being.)

Clint is on medical leave again, though he’s a terrible patient; Natasha despairs of him, and is mostly resigned to helping him as much as he’ll allow so he at least doesn’t hinder his recovery too much. Stark is Stark, and they both roll their eyes a little at that.

She tells him some of the Stark Industries gossip, but that’s not as interesting because Steve doesn’t know any of those people. Still, he likes hearing about them. It always reminds him that no matter what year it is, people always seem to be people. He finds it comforting, even when he despairs of humanity in his darker moments.

Steve tells her about the painting he’s been working on, and about how he’s been watching Bucky when he knits and is thinking about taking it up. He’s been watching a lot of hair do tutorials on youtube, and is working his way up to asking if he can practice on Bucky. He thinks Bucky will like it.

He doesn’t realize until he’s in the middle of telling her about it how excited and nervous he is about the idea. He wants to make Bucky’s hair pretty. And get his hands in it. Mostly the latter, if he’s being honest with himself.

She does eventually work her way around to telling him about a mission she’s got coming up.

It’s more or less a milk run, but she walks him through it anyway, and Steve offers a few suggestions, things to look out for. They’ve found that their completely different perspectives and skill sets actually mesh pretty well for planning. Steve is not at all a spy, but he sees things just differently enough to the way Natasha does that it often helps her see holes or clarify things.

He enjoys hearing about her missions, too.

So they go through that point by point, and he offers a couple of suggestions, and Natasha squinches her nose at one of them but the others she nods at, and she revises and they go through it again. She squinches her nose again at the point where he’d offered the suggestion she didn’t like, and mutters, “dammit Rogers, you’re probably right,” and then revises again.

Finally they’ve gone through the whole thing, and Natasha slumps over against his shoulder and says, “Ok, my brain hurts now, put on something stupid.”

And Steve obeys. His brain also hurts a little; it’s different than a headache but not entirely. He finds one of the reality TV shows he knows she likes (and he secretly enjoys when they watch together although he tends to forget they exist otherwise), and they slump together on the couch for a while watching TV. 

They hang out for most of the afternoon, and it’s really nice to just hang out. No expectations, just spending time together. Natasha doesn’t usually make him talk about stuff he doesn’t want to talk about. 

He walks her to the door when she decides it’s time to leave, and gives her a big hug.

“Tell James I said thanks for lunch,” she says, muffled against his shoulder.

Steve gives her a little squeeze. “Thanks for coming over. Sorry I’ve been so incommunicado, I’ll do better.”

She smiles at him, and kisses his cheek. “I’ll hold you to that, Steve. See you soon?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Good.” She heads down the stairs and walks off. Steve watches her go for a few moments, and then shuts the door.

Bucky is standing in the living room archway. He’s got serious bedhead and sleepy eyes.

Steve can’t help but smile at him, and want to hug him and not let go, ever.

He gives in just a little bit, walking over to him and slipping his arms around Bucky’s waist, leaning down a little so he can rest his head on his shoulder. Bucky’s arms immediately go around him, and Bucky sighs.

“Did you nap all day?” Steve asks after a few moments of just enjoying the hug.

Bucky shakes his head. “No, I was watching stuff on my laptop.”

“Does ‘stuff’ mean me and Natasha in the living room?” Because Steve is not so oblivious that he doesn’t know Bucky has the whole house set up with surveillance and security. He’s ok with whatever Bucky needs to feel safe, especially since Bucky showed him where everything is and how he’s got it on a closed network. He’s very thorough and very good at security, which makes sense. Steve feels more secure at home than he ever did in the tower, despite the pervasive surveillance there, too. Something about knowing it’s Bucky who is in charge, he thinks.

Bucky chuckles. “No, I was watching _Murder, She Wrote_ on Amazon.”

“Without me?”

“I’ll watch it with you, too,” Bucky murmurs.

Steve isn’t really all that invested in the show, so he doesn’t actually mind that Bucky had watched a few episodes without him, so he just shrugs.

“You hungry?” Bucky asks, after a few minutes. They’re still just standing in the hall hugging.

Steve doesn’t want to go anywhere. His stomach rumbles at the thought of food.

“Ok if I order something for dinner?”

“Of course,” Steve says. “And thank you again for making lunch for me and Natasha. She said thanks, too.”

Bucky shrugs off the praise. “Not up to anymore cooking today, I think.”

“Ok, Buck. Whatever you want.”

“Thai sound good? Or Korean? Or Italian?”

Steve mulls it over as they finally separate, although Bucky keeps his arm around Steve’s waist as they walk slowly toward the kitchen. That least Steve the opening he needs to drape his arm across Bucky’s shoulders.

“Korean, I think.”

Bucky nods. In the kitchen, Steve takes care of putting the rest of the dishes in the dishwasher and gets it started while Bucky looks at the delivery apps on his phone until he finds the Korean place he likes, and starts their order. He doesn’t ask what Steve wants, and Steve doesn’t offer any suggestions. Not only does Bucky know what Steve likes and doesn’t like, he’s better at knowing what Steve will and won’t like as far as trying new things than Steve usually is.

So Steve trusts him to pick good things to eat and leaves him to it.

They settle in the living room once the kitchen is cleaned up sufficiently to please Bucky (his signs are subtle but Steve’s learned to read them and take his cues from them) (Bucky is much more fastidious about the kitchen than he is about other things, Steve has noticed). Bucky turns on the TV, which has definitely become a habit for both of them, and picks up his knitting project. Steve watches him knit for a couple rows, and then picks up his book. He leans over until their shoulders meet, and then slouches a bit, twists around a bit, until he’s got his feet draped over the arm of the couch and his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and then he opens his book and starts reading.

After dinner they each go through their evening rituals, and meet back up in the living room to watch a little TV before bed.

Bucky’s hair is still wet, and Steve itches to get his fingers in it.

“Can I—?” He starts to ask.

Bucky hands him a comb and sits down in front of the couch. Steve has to take a moment to calm himself down. _Be cool, Rogers._

He combs out Bucky’s hair with all the care and gentleness he can put in his fingers, hoping beyond hope that Bucky understands just how much this means to him, to get to do this for him.

“I’ve been watching youtube tutorials,” he says after a while.

“I know,” Bucky replies.

“You do?”

“You only clear your browser history when you’ve been watching porn, Stevie.”

For a moment, Steve freezes, absolutely mortified, blushing fit to catch fire. He opens his mouth to say— something, anything. But what is there to say, really? So he just shuts his mouth again. 

Bucky drops his head back against Steve’s legs and looks at him upside down. “You wanna braid my hair sometime, sweetheart?”

“Yes, but only if you want me to.”

Bucky doesn’t answer for a bit, and Steve tries to memorize every second of this little grace he’s been given, combing Bucky’s soft, silky hair. Steve doesn’t push for his decision, he knows Bucky is considering it against the things he can and cannot handle and he’ll answer in his own time. He just keeps combing, though Bucky’s hair is beyond tangle-free at this point.

“Let's try it,” he says after a while. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. Want me to stop now?”

“Mmm,” Bucky hums. “Few more minutes?”

“You got it, Buck.” Steve combs his hair out for a few more minutes, as requested, and then leans over and kisses the top of his head. Bucky drops his head back again and smiles up at him. He hands the comb back to Bucky, and he puts it on the table next to the couch, unfolds his legs and stands up.

Steve looks up at him, and it takes him a moment to realize why Bucky is just… looking at him. They have something of a newly formed habit, when they watch TV in the evenings.

“Oh, right,” he says. “Sorry Buck I’m just not thinking real fast tonight.”

Bucky smiles at him, a teasing smile, and doesn’t bother to say, “when are you ever?” He doesn’t need to say it.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Steve mutters, feigning exasperation as he stretches himself out on the couch and makes grabby hands at Bucky, just to let him know he is one hundred percent on board for what Bucky wants.

What Bucky wants is to carefully stretch himself out sort of wedged in between Steve’s bulk and the back of the couch, with his head resting on Steve’s chest and their legs tangled together. He sighs when he’s nice and comfortable, and Steve lays one hand on Bucky’s back. The other he puts over his own head, and he turns his head enough that he can at least pretend he’s watching whatever it is Bucky puts on the TV and isn’t just daydreaming about never letting go of Bucky ever again.

He has to keep it strictly PG in his head though, because it would be really inappropriate of him to get all hot and bothered right now when they’re laid out like this, plastered to each other. For one thing, Bucky would know about it immediately and Steve would be a little embarrassed. For another, he just doesn’t want to put that kind of expectation on Bucky right now. No matter what they are—and he’s trying not to put a name to it until Bucky does—he doesn’t want to push Bucky into anything he’s not ready for.

He’ll just have to masturbate in the shower more, if needs must. And they likely will, because they usually do.

He already masturbates in the shower a lot.

He’d call it an issue but. It’s really not. Especially since the alternative is something like telling Bucky no.

Just the thought of it makes him shudder a little, and Bucky lifts his head. “You ok, pal?”

“Yeah Buck. Just a weird bad thought.”

Bucky nods and puts his head back down.

\--

Later, laying in pretty much the same configuration except in bed instead of on the couch, Steve asks, “So what’s with you and Natasha, anyway?”

Bucky makes a sleepy noise and doesn’t answer.

“Just-- when you’re ready I’d like to know. You don’t have to tell me now.” He really doesn’t want to push Bucky into talking about things he’s not ready to talk about. He’s just so curious about it, because it’s fairly clear that they know each other. Know each other more than just from their interactions around the whole Insight mess.

Bucky shrugs against him, and lifts his head to look at Steve. “I think I know her.”

Steve blinks a few times. 

“And I think she knows me,” Bucky adds.

Steve blinks again.

“That’s all. I don’t remember anything else.” 

Steve can feel him shrug in his arms, and he puts his head back down on Steve’s chest. Steve concentrates on breathing deep and slow, and not get--what? Worked up over it? Insanely jealous?

He doesn’t know what, but he falls asleep trying not to let it happen.

\--

Saturday Sam shows up with two pizzas and a six pack.

“Brought enough for me,” he says, but he’s grinning at Steve when he says it. 

He steps back so Sam can come into the house, and he does, putting the six pack down on the hall table where Steve always leaves his keys so he can give Steve a one-armed hug with the pizzas still in his other hand.

“We have plenty of food, Sam,” Steve tells him. “Bucky’s making lasagna, he’ll be mad if you ruin your appetite.”

“No shit, homemade lasagna? Fuck this pizza then.”

Steve nods and leads him into the house. “I won’t swear to it but I think he made the noodles himself. I saw him looking at a pasta cookbook the other day. He definitely made the bread he’s using for the garlic bread.”

Sam shakes his head in wonder. “I’m getting the royal treatment today, I oughta come over more often.”

“You should,” Steve agrees. He takes the pizzas from Sam and heads to the kitchen. Sam follows him, and Steve tells him to go ahead and throw the beer in the fridge. Steve puts the pizzas on the table and grabs himself a slice, shoving nearly half of it right in his mouth.

The smell of the lasagna cooking has his mouth watering. He feels like he’s been starving and also eating all day.

Sam hands him a beer and grabs his own slice. “C’mon, Rogers, let’s catch up. Where’s Barnes? How’s he doing?”

They go out to the living room and sit down with their beers. Steve doesn’t answer his questions until they’re both sitting and comfortable.

“Not sure where Bucky is right now. Probably not far since the lasagna’s already cooking. He’s good, I think. We both are.” Steve shrugs a little. He knows that Sam is being a good friend, but he doesn’t really know how to talk about it.

It’s such a huge thing, in his head, how well things have been going. How well Bucky’s been doing, working on himself and on being able to touch and be touched again. It’s taken up so much room in his head he doesn’t really know how to encompass it in words.

“Things are good,” he says, lame.

Sam just grins at him. “That good, huh?”

Steve shrugs, blushing. He takes a big gulp of his beer and then tries to change the subject. “How are you doing, Sam?”

Sam smiles again, and lets him do it, for now at least. Steve doesn’t really kid himself that Sam won’t get him to talk about himself more. Sam’s good at that. And it’s not even the therapist thing, it’s just that Sam is a good man and a good friend, and he really does want to know what’s really going on in Steve’s life.

Steve is just not sure _how_ to talk about it.

“I’m good, man,” Sam says. “Living in the tower is insane, but the VA is still a mess so that keeps me going. I’ve got a good group session getting started. Being an Avenger is, well. You know.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. That’s part of why he’d moved out of the tower, and part of the reason why he hasn’t been on active duty unless he’s really needed, since Bucky came back.

Once the subject of how Steve is doing is more or less abandoned, at least for the time being, it’s much easier for them (for Steve) to talk and catch up. Conversation flows much more easily, at least for Steve. Sam, easy-going as ever, just goes with it. 

Bucky comes downstairs after about ten minutes. He comes into the living room briefly, long enough to nod at Sam and put his hand briefly on Steve’s shoulder.

“How you doing, Barnes?” Sam asks, not letting Bucky get away quite that easy. 

Steve wants to bristle at that, but he has no place doing so and he knows it. Bucky is his own person. If he wasn’t prepared to talk to Sam, he wouldn’t have come through the living room on his way to the kitchen. If he doesn’t want to talk to Sam, he can just leave. It’s not on Steve to protect him or coddle him.

Bucky looks at Sam and shrugs one shoulder. He doesn’t take his hand off of Steve. “Ok, I guess. You?”

“I’m good, man. You look good.”

Bucky ducks his head, letting his hair shield his face briefly, but he says, “Thanks.”

“How’s Steve doing?”

Steve squawks, but Bucky and Sam both laugh at him. “He’s getting there,” Bucky says. He doesn’t offer more.

Sam nods though, like he gets it. “Glad to hear it.”

Bucky’s lips twitch a little, like he’s hiding a smile, like he’s proud he was able to answer Sam’s question, and Steve can’t even really be mad at him, no matter how much he wants to be. Because Bucky has _noticed_. Bucky is noticing him and how he’s doing and it’s ridiculous and they live together and share a bed pretty much every night but Bucky _notices_ him.

He does, however, gape at both of them. Because he’s _right here_. Bucky pats him on the shoulder again, smiles that secret, soft little smile at him, empathetic but not really giving him the chance to be annoyed, and heads into the kitchen.

“I can speak for myself,” Steve growls. He has to at least pretend he’s put out. And he is. A little.

Sam just laughs at him. “Yeah, but you lie.”

Steve opens his mouth to protest again, but. Well. 

He closes his mouth and crosses his arms, scowling.

Sam chuckles again, and claps him on the shoulder, similar to how Bucky just had, but more friendly, less… however Bucky had done it. 

“I wouldn’t ask him if you weren’t here, Steve,” Sam says. “We’re not going around trying to manage you behind your back.”

Steve huffs. “I know. I can take care of myself.”

Sam nods. “You sure can, but he clearly wants to help. Just like you want to help take care of him.”

Steve doesn’t have a good reply to that, because it’s the plain truth.

Sam changes the subject after that, and Steve is glad of the reprieve.

Bucky comes back out of the kitchen a little bit later with a slice of pizza in hand, and squeezes himself in between Steve and the arm of the couch. Steve shifts a little to make just enough room for him, and goes on chatting with Sam.

Bucky doesn’t join in, he just leans against Steve and munches his way through his slice and listens to them talk. When he’s done with the pizza, he wipes his hands on his sweatpants and picks up the book Steve’s been reading.

It’s nice, having him there, a solid presence pressed tight against Steve’s side.

He’s certain that Sam notices, but he doesn’t say anything.

When there’s a lull in the conversation, Bucky turns on the TV and puts on one of the music channels, and things are comfortable. 

A ding comes from the kitchen, and Bucky extracts himself from his spot and says, “That’s the food.”

“It smells amazing, Barnes,” Sam says as he gets up, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. 

“It’s a new recipe,” Bucky admits with a little half-shrug. “You’re a guinea pig.”

Sam grins. “Well if it tastes as good as it smells man, that is not a problem for me.”

They all head into the kitchen, where Bucky pulls the lasagna out of the oven, and then produces the somehow still warm garlic bread and small caesar salads for all three of them. They sit around the table and tuck in.

Sam makes enough appreciative noises over the food for all of them, but Steve definitely joins in, because the lasagna is amazing. The salad is amazing. The bread is amazing. It’s all amazing. The red wine Bucky had produced from… somewhere, to go with all of it is amazing. 

Steve is so proud of him, and so in love it hurts, it aches in his chest. He can feel it bursting from every pore. It must be tattooed across his forehead. He can’t stop smiling around every bite of food.

Bucky has a little smile on his face too, color high on his cheeks throughout the meal, every time one of them makes another noise, another comment on how good everything tastes.

Sam keeps glancing between the two of them, and Steve isn’t so besotted he doesn’t notice. Sam doesn’t bring it up, though his expression goes a little thoughtful here and there, and Steve knows he’ll bring up whatever it is he’s thinking about at some point. It’s inevitable.

Once they’ve all eaten their fill--or rather, once Steve and Bucky have finally eaten their fill, with Sam looking on through the latter part, watching with increasingly wide eyes as between them they finish off the entire pan of lasagna and almost all of the garlic bread--Sam insists on helping clean up, and to Steve’s surprise, Bucky lets him.

Steve joins in as well, and somehow the three of them isn’t too many people in the kitchen. Steve had always known that he and Bucky work well together, maneuvering around each other without though, but Sam falls right into it as well. The kitchen is sparkling in no time at all, the dishwasher running and glasses of water poured for all of them.

They go back into the living room and collapse on the sofa again. Well, Sam and Steve collapse. Bucky hesitates for a moment or two, but doesn’t sit. Instead, he puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder from the other side of the couch again, and Steve doesn’t think before he’s tangling their fingers together, tipping his head back to smile goofily up at Bucky.

Bucky gives him that soft, secret little smile of his that Steve thinks of as entirely his own, and squeezes his hand a bit. He looks over at Sam, who is definitely watching them, face carefully blank, and says, “I’m heading upstairs. It was good to see you, Sam.”

“Good to see you too, Barnes. Thanks for dinner, it was amazing.”

Bucky ducks his head a little, but he smiles at Sam. “Glad you enjoyed it.” He looks down at Steve. “Gonna need my hand back, sweetheart.”

Steve lets go, but he’s reluctant about it, and he makes sure he telegraphs that with every fiber of his being. Bucky smiles at him again and, once his hand is freed, he heads upstairs. Steve one hundred percent watches him go.

He can see Sam staring at him out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t look over at him until Bucky is out of sight.

“What?”

“So it’s like that, huh?” Sam is grinning at him.

Steve thinks about demuring, or denying it altogether but. He doesn’t want to, so he just shrugs a little. “It is for me.”

“Pretty sure it is for him too, dude.”

Steve shrugs again, helpless to explain just how he feels. “That’s up to him.”

Sam cocks his head to one side, questioning.

“I’m not expecting anything from him, I mean. We’re on his terms. He’s the one calling the shots, not me.”

He’s not explaining it right, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“You’re kinda co-dependent.”

Steve just shrugs, but he can feel his hackles rising a little.

Sam holds up his hands, clearly seeing that Steve’s about to get defensive. It’s enough to calm him down almost completely.

“I’m not judging, Steve. And I’m not counseling you either, I’m not your therapist. I don’t wanna be your therapist—not that you don’t need one because both of you definitely do—but you’re both grown and get to make your own decisions. As long as you’re taking care of each other, which it looks like you are, I’m just gonna be happy that you’re happy. You happy?”

Steve thinks about the last time Sam had asked him that question, and how he hadn’t been able to answer. He smiles. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Good. Now please tell me you have a Nintendo, I wanna kick your ass at MarioKart.”

\--

Bucky’s quiet and a little bit clingy the next day, protesting in half-asleep muffled mumbles when Steve gets up to go for his run, and still in bed when Steve gets back and done with his shower.

He’s not sure it’s meant to be an invitation, to get back into bed and snuggle with him, but he takes it as one and does exactly that. Bucky turns to him as soon as he’s slid under the covers and tucks his head under Steve’s chin. Steve pulls the covers up to his ears and tucks himself around Bucky as close as he can. 

His stomach rumbles, and he ignores it. Bucky huffs a little against his chest and snakes his arms around Steve.

“Just a few minutes,” he mumbles against Steve’s chest. “Then we’ll go eat.”

“You can stay here if you want, Buck. I can feed myself.”

“No, I need to eat too.”

“You hungry?”

“Eh?” 

Bucky has sort of explained to him, in bits and pieces here and there, that he still has a hard time with some of his body’s signals. He doesn’t feel hunger the way he remembers feeling it before, just like sometimes he doesn’t feel other things that his body should be telling him. It’s one of the reasons he keeps a fairly strict sleep schedule; if he doesn’t go to bed at basically the same time every night he won’t sleep until he collapses, and that’s not good.

So Bucky keeps a schedule, and he makes food for Steve, and that keeps Steve on a schedule. 

It’s actually done a lot of good for both of them. Steve’s aware of this. Keeping their own routine is good for them at least as far as eating and sleeping go.

Sometimes Steve has to be reminded that just because he can go further and longer without food or sleep doesn’t mean it’s good for him or that he should.

Sometimes he’s even the one to do the reminding.

He doesn’t know if that’s progress or just, like, being an adult. But he’s still proud of himself.

Bucky starts pulling away from him when his stomach grumbles again, louder this time, and it’s Steve’s turn to protest, pouting about it. But he lets Bucky go all the same, loathe to do anything that might be construed as telling him what to do.

The look Bucky gives him as he’s getting out of bed and pulling on a pair of sweats and his favorite cardigan over the shirt he’d slept in tells him that Bucky knows what Steve is thinking and thinks it’s bullshit.

He thinks. He’s not quite as good at reading Bucky’s tiny expressions as he was when they were kids. But. He’s getting there.

Now that’s something for him to really be proud of.

Bucky makes pancakes for breakfast, and Steve knows that they’re Bucky’s favorite. He’s not complaining. They linger over the breakfast table. Bucky is reading a fantasy novel, and Steve is reading the news on his tablet, and their fingers are twined together across the table.

\--

The day is quiet, and they stick close to one another by unspoken agreement. Steve can tell Bucky is feeling a little off, that he’s a little clingy, but it costs him nothing to indulge that and it settles something deep inside him that is only truly quiet when Bucky is within arm’s reach.

“I have to go into the city tomorrow,” he tells Bucky over dinner. “I’m overdue and they’re insisting I have paperwork to fill out.”

He’s at least half sure that they’re lying and just want him to check in in person, but it has been a while and things have been blessedly quiet on the avengering front, so he’ll go and show his face, do some paperwork, and sneak out as early as he can manage. Maybe Natasha or Sam will help him escape.

Bucky nods to show he’s listening, but he’s also frowning.

“I have to go see Stark next week,” he says, voice quiet, subdued.

It takes a moment for Steve to realize what he’s talking about. Stark takes care of Bucky’s arm.

Those are never good days for him. For either of them, really. Steve has never gone with Bucky for one of these appointments, and he always spends the day in a tangle of worry and anxiety. There’s barely anything he can do to help Bucky, on those days. Nothing he’s tried ever seems to get through.

Maybe he can’t get through, maybe all he can do is be present when Bucky gets home, and be present if and when Bucky asks for or needs something, but it grates at him that there’s nothing concrete. There’s no one he can punch over this.

“Oh,” is all he can think of to say.

Bucky doesn’t elaborate further, and Steve lets it drop. Perhaps he’d only wanted Steve to have some time to prepare for it. Bucky is always really in his own head when he gets back from these appointments, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t noticed how worked up Steve gets over them.

—

And then Bucky kisses him.

They’re both getting ready for bed, still quiet, like they’ve passed the whole day in a little bubble of solace and peace.

Steve is wallowing in every moment of it.

He’s putting on his pajamas, not really paying attention to what Bucky is doing even though he’s aware of his presence as he moves around the upstairs floor.

And then he’s standing right behind him, all of a sudden and out of nowhere. Steve hadn’t heard him approach, and he realizes yet again that Bucky has a skill set that Steve has almost no concept of.

He turns around to ask what’s up, and Bucky crowds into him and slides his arms around Steve’s waist and then just stops a breath away from him, glancing at his lips before he looks Steve in the eye, a question there that he’s waiting for the answer to.

“Yes,” Steve breathes, and Bucky kisses him, soft and chaste and barely there before it’s gone again.

Steve stands there, struck dumb, a clanging in his ears like he’s the bell. 

Bucky smiles at him, lays his hand against Steve’s cheek and presses a second little kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then leaves him there to get into bed.

Steve is still staring at nothing who knows how long later when Bucky speaks up, voice soft, “go brush your teeth and come to bed, sweetheart.”

He is helpless but to obey.

—

Steve has to head into the city to Avengers Tower and he’s not particularly looking forward to it. But he needs to go, the team is expecting him and he has reports or paperwork or something to do, so he gets up and goes for his run early, so he can get it in before sunrise.

Bucky is up and making breakfast when he gets back and Steve just wants to curl around him and never leave. 

He doesn’t, more’s the pity.

He collapses into his chair at the table and watches Bucky move around the kitchen, clearly on autopilot, bleary and possibly half asleep still. 

The coffee isn’t even on yet.

Steve gets back up and gets the coffee pot going. He sits and watches as the smell of coffee filters into Bucky’s brain and starts to perk him up. It’s fascinating to watch. He loves it. He loves him.

He’s a goner.

He’s remarkably ok with that.

He gets up again when the coffee pot beeps, and pours each of them a cup, adds sugar and half and half to Bucky’s first and hands it to him, then adulterates his own and goes back to his chair. A few moments later, Bucky puts a plate of food down in front of him. He’s got his mug in his other hand, and he takes a moment or two to lean into Steve as he tucks in, sipping his coffee and watching Steve eat.

Steve shifts to accommodate the weight of him and free up his hand and would be entirely content to eat his whole breakfast with Bucky leaning i to his side.

Bucky doesn't stay, however. He goes back to the stove and finishes putting together his own breakfast before rejoining Steve at the table, sitting down across from him and starting to eat.

Steve lingers while Bucky eats. He should go shower, and get ready to head into the city but. If he’s being honest with himself--and that’s something he’s trying to be right now, so he can be honest with Bucky too--he doesn’t want to go.

“I don’t wanna,” he whines, slumping over the table.

Bucky grunts. “Gotta get it over with, Stevie.”

“Ugh.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Uuuuuuugh.”

Bucky chuckles a little. “Want me to make you something you like for dinner tonight?”

“You don’t gotta.”

He can practically hear Bucky’s eye-roll. He doesn’t even bother looking up to actually see the eye roll that he knows is happening.

“What do you want?” Bucky asks.

“That stew?” 

Steve risks a glance from where he’s more or less face-planted on the table. Bucky seems to be thinking, as he eats his breakfast. Steve thinks he’s probably going through his mental inventory of what food they have on hand and deciding.

“Done,” he says after a few moments of thinking. “Want the rest of my potatoes?”

Steve makes grabby hands, and Bucky gives him the rest of his breakfast potatoes.

He’s still reluctant, but after he’s finished helping Bucky finish his meal, he gets up and goes upstairs to shower and get dressed.

\--

He takes the bike into the city. It makes the ride more pleasant, the traffic more bearable. He’s started wearing a helmet when he’s on the bike, it makes him less conspicuous, less likely to get recognized and mobbed at stoplights. He doesn’t like wearing a helmet, but he definitely likes that people don’t bother him on the bike these days.

He makes it to the Tower in relatively ok time, for a morning heading into the city, and he enters the garage and heads down to the avengers-only level.

It’s mostly full of Tony’s ridiculous cars, but in Tony’s defense he’s said on multiple occasions that any of them are welcome to borrow any of the cars whenever they want. 

Steve has yet to take him up on it. But maybe.

Maybe he’ll see if Bucky wants to go away somewhere for a weekend. A cabin in the woods or something. Just something away, where they can take a little break from being in a city all the time.

It seems a little silly to him at first thought, getting away when they’ve been spending so much time relaxing together already, but the thought sticks with him while he takes off the helmet and gets off the bike and heads over to the elevator.

“Welcome, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis greets him when he gets into the elevator.

“Hi Jarvis,” he says. He’s finally broken the habit of looking at the ceiling when he talks to Jarvis. He’s pretty proud of that. “Do you know where I’m supposed to be?”

“Yes, Captain. I’ll take you to the common floor.”

“The common floor? I thought I was here to do paperwork?”

“I have been instructed to take you to the common floor,” Jarvis replies.

Not helpful at all.

Sam is waiting for him when the elevator opens, and he holds up a hand to forestall whatever it is he thinks Steve is going to say.

Steve is pretty sure he’s already scowling, so it was probably a good decision on Sam’s part.

“I know, man. It wasn’t my idea, but I did agree to go along with it.”

Everyone is there, it turns out, all gathered in the living room with snacks and… paperwork.

“What is this?” Steve asks, because he’s confused.

“Paperwork party,” Tony pipes up.

As if Tony ever does paperwork.

Sam points Steve to a spot on one of the couches and hands him a plate of breakfast food followed by a clipboard with a bunch of papers on it, and finally a pen. Steve still doesn’t have a proper idea of what’s happening.

Natasha scoots in close next to him. “Combination movie day and everyone’s got paperwork to catch up on type thing. It was Clint’s idea, actually.”

Steve looks over at Clint, who has one arm in a sling and a bandage across his nose, but he also has a clipboard of paperwork and a slice of pizza half eaten… on the paperwork.

Everyone is there, and everyone has food and paperwork.

His team is a bunch of weirdos, but Steve loves them. And he thinks maybe they’ve missed him, just as much as he’s missed them.

Sam takes a seat on Steve’s other side and leans in close. “Yep, everyone missed you. And this way you kill two birds with one stone. Bucky texted me right after you left, and I let him know what we were planning. He knows you’ll be a little later than you expected.”

“I--” Steve starts. He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.

Sam gets it, though. He bumps their shoulders together and clicks his own pen a couple of times.

Someone starts the movie-- _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom_ \--and everyone more or less gets to work. Except for Tony, of course. He keeps trying to hand his clipboard of paperwork to Bruce, who takes it without a glance every time and then waits til Tony’s preoccupied and hands it right back to him.

Steve keeps watching them from the corners of his eyes. Eventually, Tony absently starts filling in the paperwork, after the fourth or fifth time Bruce hands it to him. Which Steve is pretty sure was Bruce’s plan all along. He does not laugh like he wants to, just turns his attention back to the movie and his own work.

The paperwork is done, at least for Steve, before the movie is finished. He slouches down on the couch and grabs another slice of pizza, and leans against Natasha to sorta concentrate on the movie for a bit. 

After a few moments, Sam leans over against him.

Steve sighs, happy.

\--

Natasha gives him her second sheaf of paperwork, and Steve takes it with equanimity, sitting up a bit so he can get started on it without giving himself a hand cramp. 

“The hell, Rogers?” Sam mutters next to him, shaking out his hand.

Steve shrugs. “She beat you to it fair and square, Sam.”

Natasha chuckles and cracks her knuckles. She grabs another slice for herself and slouches against Steve the way he’d been slouched against her.

When he’s done with Natasha’s paperwork, he takes what’s left of Sam’s and does that too. It’s only fair.

\--

Later in the afternoon, when everyone is about finished their paperwork and they’re all more or less laying around on each other in various states of asleep, stuffed full of pizza and whatever else had shown up for them to eat (like magic!) with some movie or another droning away on the TV, Steve’s phone buzzes with an incoming text.

Well, with another incoming text. He and Bucky have been texting off and on throughout the day. Bucky had checked in a couple times, and Steve had sent him back pictures of his team, mostly the most embarrassing ones he could snag. 

This one is another check in: ‘you gonna want anything to eat when you get home sweetheart?’

Steve thinks about all the food he’s already eaten, and surveys what’s left on the coffee table in between the various couches. There’s still some pizza, the remnants of some chips, about half of the last cheeseburger Natasha hadn’t finished. 

He thinks about how it might sound, the “you gonna want to eat when you get home” coming from anyone other than Bucky. He thinks it could be passive aggressive as hell, but he’s also certain that Bucky is genuinely asking, probably prior to deciding what to make for his own dinner.

He worries briefly that Bucky won’t keep to his normal routine with Steve gone for so much of the day, when they do so much to keep each other track.

But it’s also not his job, to keep Bucky to his routine.

He still worries, but he does his best to put that aside, because he knows that this is good, for him to get out for a while, and spend time with his other friends. 

Maybe next time Bucky will want to come with him.

The burger though: that sounds good right now, in this moment. Steve extricates himself from Natasha and Sam enough to grab the remnants of the burger and sits back again, gingerly so as to give them time to sleepily grumble and shift so he can settle in again. 

Steve sticks the burger in his mouth and holds up his phone to take a picture with Natasha and Sam on either side of him.

‘Been eating all afternoon’, he sends back. 

‘Is that a yes?’ Bucky replies after a few moments.

‘Maybe a little? Not a full meal for sure.’

Bucky sends back a laughing emoji and, ‘I’ll put a plate in the oven for you.’

‘Thanks, Buck.’

Bucky sends him back a heart emoji, and Steve doesn’t really absorb anything else that afternoon.

\--

It’s later than he was expecting it to be, when he finally extricates himself from the team and makes his excuses and heads home. 

Home. As soon as he sets out, he can’t wait to be there. He can’t wait to see Bucky again. And maybe get kissed again. 

He spends the entire drive in a daze, over the simplicity of a texted heart. It’s a good thing that there isn’t much traffic along the way.

He gets home in one piece, thankfully.

The house is mostly dark, and Steve follows the soft glow of a lamp to the living room, where Bucky is curled up on the couch with his knitting spread over his lap, and something soft and soothing playing. Steve looks around, but the TV isn’t on, and he’s not sure where the music is coming from.

He goes and sits down next to Bucky, curling around him as best he can without interrupting the flow of his knitting. He slides his arms around Bucky’s waist and leans his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and doesn’t say anything.

Bucky doesn’t say anything either, not until he’s finished his row. He puts the knitting down carefully and nudges Steve.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks.

Steve smiles a little. “I did, yeah.”

“Good.”

Steve tries to snuggle a little closer, and Bucky turns his nose into Steve’s hair. 

“What did you do today?” Steve asks, after a bit. Bucky hasn’t yet picked his knitting up again, so Steve knows it’s safe to keep talking.

Bucky shrugs a little. “Went for a walk after you left. Walked to the park and back. Stopped in at the bodega and said hi, got a couple sandwiches. Stopped at that hot dog cart we like and said hi. Came home again. Started a loaf of bread for tomorrow. Made some cookies--”

“Cookies?”

“Yeah, Stevie. Chocolate chip.”

Steve makes a happy noise at the prospect of chocolate chip cookies. He would get up and go get them right now, but he’s so comfortable, snugged up on the couch with Bucky.

Bucky tells him a little bit more about his day, ending with camping out on the couch with his knitting to wait for Steve to get home.

“And now you’re here,” he finishes.

“And now I’m here,” Steve agrees. “Don’t think I need to go back into the city for a bit. But I might ask Sam and Nat to come out and visit again soon.”

“Ok,” Bucky agrees. 

“I was a little worried today that my being away for longer than usual would throw things off for you.”

He hadn’t really meant to admit to that. It makes it sound like he thinks Bucky can’t get by without him. And he can, he knows that Bucky can. He’s fought long and hard to learn how to get by again. He doesn’t need Steve.

Bucky makes a hmm noise and doesn’t say anything for a while. “I do need you though,” he murmurs, after a while.

And of course he gets it. Of course he knows what Steve is really afraid of, that Bucky doesn’t need him and that Steve needs him too much. 

Much too much.

“I can handle a day, Steve, but I do need you too. Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, though he doesn’t know if he really does.

“I think it’s time for bed.”

“Okay.” Steve sits up, and lets Bucky get off the couch, watches him tidy his knitting away and fold the blanket he’d had over his lap. He offers Steve his hand when he’s done, and Steve takes it, getting up and following Bucky upstairs to bed.

—

When he opens his eyes, it’s morning and Bucky is watching him. For a moment, Steve just looks at him, and is looked at in return. Bucky is smiling at him. It doesn’t show on his lips, but it’s there in his eyes.

Steve rubs at his face, breaking the spell. “Time’zit?”

Bucky shrugs. “Early, still.”

“You’re awake.”

Bucky shrugs again. He shifts and kisses Steve’s nose.

Steve blinks at him. “You kissed me.”

“Did,” Bucky agrees.

“You keep doing that.” Steve’s brain-to-mouth filter is apparently firmly in the off position this morning. Oh well.

“That a problem.”

“Not even a little bit.”

Bucky does that smiling with his eyes thing again. “Good,” he says eventually. He shifts across the bed and puts his arms around Steve. “Get some more sleep, Stevie.”

Who is Steve to argue with that? “Ok.”

—

When he wakes up again he can tell that it’s much later than he normally gets up, and he is still in Bucky’s arms, Bucky’s head tucked under his chin, Bucky’s leg between his own. It is the best possible way to wake up, except maybe if they were both naked, too. Consensually naked, of course.

Steve thinks about other things for a few minutes. Bucky snoozes on, until Steve starts trying to extricate himself. He needs to use the bathroom, and brush his teeth. Maybe start the coffee before crawling back into bed.

Bucky grumbles but lets him go. He absolutely watches Steve cross the room to the bathroom in just his boxer briefs. Steve knows, because he keeps looking back.

The look in Bucky’s eyes is _hungry_ , and confusing. Steve doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t know what it means.

He goes through his morning routine quickly, and sticks his head back into the bedroom to say, “I’m gonna put the coffee on, ok?”

Bucky is a lump under the covers, but the grumble that comes from him is more or less positive, so Steve takes it as an affirmative and goes downstairs to put on the coffee. 

He waits long enough for two cups worth to brew, pours one for each of them and leaves the pot to finish and wait for them to come back.

Bucky’s in the bathroom when he gets back, and Steve sets his mug down on his side of the bed, and sits down on his side and takes a sip. It’s perfect.

When Bucky comes out of the bathroom, he gets right back in bed, only pausing for the briefest of moments to take a sip of his coffee before he burrows down into the mountain of blankets he keeps mostly on his side of the bed. Steve lays down next to him and pulls one of the blankets over himself, more as an excuse to be a little closer to Bucky than for warmth. Bucky turns his head towards him on his pillow, smiling with his eyes again. 

“You brushed your teeth already,” Bucky says.

“I did,” Steve agrees. “Did you?”

Bucky makes an affirmative noise.

“No morning breath,” Steve observes.

Bucky makes another affirmative noise.

“So, if someone were to--” Steve turns his head to look at Bucky, and Bucky raises his eyebrows in question.

“If someone were to, say, kiss someone else. It wouldn’t be gross with morning breath.” Steve shrugs, and turns his gaze towards the ceiling. When he dares to look back, Bucky looks exasperated and impossibly fond, and it aches deep in his chest, how much he loves him.

Bucky props himself up on one hand, smiling soft at him. Steve shifts closer, so all Bucky would have to do if he so desired to kiss Steve would be to lean over.

Bucky obliges him, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Brief, and chaste, and soft with tenderness. Steve misses it as soon as it’s gone, and Bucky doesn’t go very far. He puts his other hand on Steve’s chest, and keeps smiling at him.

He smiles at Steve a lot these days, and Steve loves that, too.

He feels expansive with it, with Bucky’s smiles, filling him up, making him light as air.

“You can kiss me, too,” Bucky says.

Steve blinks because-- it’s not that it hasn’t occurred to him since Bucky first kissed him. He’s thought of nothing else, more or less, but. He doesn’t want to push. It hasn’t been all that long since Bucky wasn’t even capable of touching him, or letting himself be touched. 

“I didn’t want to push,” he admits. 

“I want you to push,” Bucky replies. “A little.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky nods.

“Ok,” Steve agrees. He’s pretty sure he’d agree if Bucky had told him he wants him to jump off the roof (it’s not like he hasn’t jumped from higher heights, but that’s neither here nor there). But this-- this he can certainly manage.

“Ok,” Bucky replies. And then he. Moves. Plasters himself against Steve, while stroking his hand up Steve’s chest, his neck, until it’s on Steve’s face. Steve turns towards him and somehow they fit together perfectly.

They’ve always fit together perfectly, even when Steve was tiny and asthmatic and even more angry all the time than he is now.

He has a harder time holding onto his anger now, with Bucky at his side. Touching him. Wanting to be touched by him.

Bucky leans in like he’s going to kiss Steve again, and he does. Sort of. He presses his forehead into Steve’s, and his nose is next to Steve’s, and their lips are a breath apart, an inhalation, a gasp. 

Steve’s heart is racing. He could stay like this forever, die happy right now, spontaneously combust. He lets his eyes fall shut, and doesn't let the sob of joy stuck in his chest escape. 

After long moments, his breath falls into tandem with Bucky’s, and his fingers relax on Bucky’s back, holding now instead of gripping him tight, too tight, and he slowly relaxes back into the bed, with Bucky on top of them, breathing each other’s breath.

\--

It’s not until much later that either of them speaks again, Bucky dropping, “My appointment is tomorrow” into the quiet of their shared room, their shared bed, their shared breath.

Steve’s next breath is sharp, and he goes tense all over all at once. 

Bucky makes soothing noises, petting at him with his free hand. 

“Ok,” Steve is able to say, after a while. He’s not ready for this. Bucky’s arm appointment days are always bad. He’s never asked Steve to go with him, and Steve always spends the day worried and restless and desperate, and then Bucky comes home tired and withdrawn and Steve can’t hold him, can’t comfort him the way he wants to.

The way he needs to be comforted himself, having spent the whole day worrying.

Arm days are not great.

“There’ll be a car in the morning,” Bucky goes on.

“Ok,” Steve whispers. He can do this. For Bucky, he can do it. He can deal. He has managed every other time.

“Go with me?”

It takes Steve too long to reply, because Bucky starts to draw away from him, and Steve’s grip on him goes tight again, almost bruising tight, holding him close. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been pressed together in bed, from forehead to toes, sharing breath; it feels like bare moments and entire epochs at the same time, and he is not ready to let go, not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yeah Buck, sorry, of course I’ll go with you.”

Bucky relaxes, and Steve forces himself to gentle his grip again, to relax as well.

“Ok. Good. Thanks.”

\--

Another moment, another epoch later, Steve lifts one hand from Bucky’s back to his cheek, brushing his thumb across Bucky’s cheekbone, the soft skin just under his eye, and shifts to press his lips more fully against Bucky’s.

Tangled together in the bed that’s become not Steve’s but _theirs_ , Steve kisses him, soft and slow and careful, treasuring every brush of lips, every sigh, every gasp. He goes slow with it, torturing himself, torturing both of them with softness, with care, drawing it out, pulling them slowly to pieces with clutching hands and soft kisses and all the tenderness he can muster.

It stretches between them, slow and soft and drawn out, and Steve doesn’t press Bucky, doesn’t rush him, but Bucky sighs into the kiss and lets his lips part, and Steve doesn't deny him, at least not for long when he’s sighing for it, pressing and pulling at Steve and murmuring “please, please” into the kiss.

Steve obliges him, deepening the kiss, brushing Bucky’s lips with his tongue, still soft and careful and slow like molasses, like honey.

It goes on forever, deeper and harder for a while, until they’re both gasping for breath, grasping hard at each other, tangled together, not even really kissing anymore just pressed together breathing each other’s air. Bucky is the one who presses back in, pushing at Steve and going over with him, kissing him again, and Steve lets him lead, just goes with it because he could, in all seriousness, do nothing but kiss Bucky for the rest of his life and he would die happy and fulfilled.

He doesn’t know how long it is that they stay like that, kissing and kissing and kissing, but eventually they sort of peter out, gasping into each other, and Steve realizes how hard he’s clutching at Bucky and forces his fingers to relax, and his arms, and he sort of sags back into the bed. Bucky goes with him, pushing his forehead against his again, trying to calm his breath. Steve follows suit, lets this wind down; he doesn’t know how he knows, but he thinks Bucky is ready for a break.

As if to remind him that they’ve spent who knows how long in bed, his stomach rumbles, loud and insistent, and Bucky giggles, twists his head away so he’s not literally laughing in Steve’s face. Steve holds out for a moment, but he gives in and lets out a giggle of his own.

For a moment, they cling the same way they have been, only giggling, in a different sort of bubble than the one they’ve been occupying all day.

“Let’s go eat,” Bucky murmurs, when they’ve both calmed down.

“Yeah, ok,” Steve agrees. He doesn’t let go.

He doesn’t let go until Bucky shifts and nudges at him, slides his hand up Steve’s side and pushes at him ever so gently. Steve whines, but he lets Bucky go. Bucky rolls away and sits up, stretching and twisting his back. He looks over his shoulder at Steve. 

“Breakfast?”

Steve rubs his hands over his face. It feels like days have passed since he brewed coffee and crawled back into bed that morning. “What time is it?”

Bucky shrugs but he picks up the phone on the nightstand. He chuckles a little. “It’s almost two.”

Steve blinks. “In the afternoon?”

Bucky nods. “Yup. Big breakfast, I think. Pancakes?”

Steve’s stomach rumbles again. They’d spent the whole morning in bed together, more or less making out. He doesn’t know what to think about that. He does know he kinda wishes they could spend the rest of the day doing the same thing, damn his stomach’s insistence on sustenance. “Yeah, that sounds good. Bacon?”

“You got it, sweetheart.”

\--

After an exceptionally large breakfast for both of them, Bucky suggests a walk.

Steve is tempted to suggest they just go back to bed instead, and Bucky must see that on his face, because he crosses the kitchen and puts his arms around Steve. Steve hugs him back immediately, and Bucky pulls away after only a moment. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” he suggests again, and Steve sees now, that Bucky needs a break from the intimacy, the intensity of it.

That’s fair. Steve may wish they could just dive in and never leave, but he’s determined not to push, not any harder than Bucky is willing to let him push, anyway. So he backs off a step, and nods once, just to make it clear that he understands what Bucky’s saying.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he agrees. 

Bucky nods, and Steve follows him out of the kitchen, upstairs to get dressed.

Neither of them bothers with a shower, or anything nicer than sweatpants and sneakers and hoodies. Steve has a decent beard coming in after a few days of not shaving, so that plus a ball cap and sunglasses is theoretically enough to keep the double takes to a minimum. 

Sure, the whole neighborhood knows he lives there, but they leave him alone other than the odd sidelong glance and the rare staring kid.

No one looks twice at Bucky. Somehow, he always blends into the crowd, no matter what he’s wearing or who he’s with. Steve doesn’t know how he does it. Well, he can probably guess, but he doesn’t want to think about how Bucky came by those skills. It’s fascinating, and somehow it seems to cover Steve as well, when they’re out together.

They walk around the neighborhood for a couple hours, holding hands, and no one looks twice at either of them.

It’s a different kind of intimacy, walking together, enjoying the neighborhood and each other and not needing to exchange any words.

They eventually end up back home, and Bucky is subdued for the rest of the day. He’s not exactly withdrawn, but he’s quiet. Steve gives him whatever space he feels he needs, but Bucky sticks close to him the rest of the day.

They order dinner, and eat in companionable silence at the kitchen table. Bucky doesn’t even object when Steve offers to clean up after their meal. He watches from the table, quiet, wide-eyed, and doesn’t even give Steve any pointers.

After Steve is finished with cleaning the kitchen, he follows Bucky out to the living room, and they curl up on the couch for a while.

Steve is entirely following Bucky’s lead at this point. Bucky is still quiet, and Steve doesn’t try to push at him to talk or do anything at all, really. He sits on the couch and grabs his book from the coffee table and settles in to read for a while. He makes sure his posture is open and welcoming, and he tries to think comfortable thoughts.

When he looks up from his book, Bucky is looking at him with a wry twist to his lips. “I know what you’re doing, sweetheart.”

Steve feigns innocence as best he can, and holds up his book. “I’m reading, Buck.”

“Uh huh.” Bucky pulls his legs up and twists himself around so he can put his head on Steve’s thigh. “You’re sitting over there all cozy-looking thinking comfortable thoughts at me, don’t think I don’t know this, Rogers.”

Steve can’t help but smile at that. “Comfortable thoughts?”

“Shut up.” Bucky pokes him in the thigh, settles in and shuts his eyes. “You could read to me?”

“Sure, Buck. Want me to start at the beginning?”

“Nah, just read from where you are. Wanna listen, is all.”

“You got it, Buck.” Steve takes a deep breath, and starts reading.

\--

Bucky is already awake when Steve opens his eyes the next morning, staring at the ceiling with his fingers laced together over his stomach.

“C’mere,” Steve mumbles, reaching for him. Even barely awake he can tell that Bucky’s tense and worrying.

Bucky turns into him immediately, wrapping himself around Steve and Steve pulls him in close and holds him tight, shutting his eyes again. He makes soothing noises and strokes his hand up and down Bucky’s back.

“I shouldn’t be nervous,” Bucky mutters into his chest. “I know what’s gonna happen.”

Steve half-shrugs. “You feel how you feel, Buck. I’ve got you.”

Bucky nods, and for a bit they just lay together quietly. Bucky is the one to pull back, grimacing a little and mumbling something about getting moving.

Steve decides he’s going to take all his cues from Bucky today, and gets up as well. “I’ll make some breakfast,” he offers.

Bucky nods, looking grateful and relieved. “Sounds good.” 

While Bucky heads for the shower, Steve pulls on a pair of sweats and heads downstairs to the kitchen. He starts the coffee brewing and then goes to the fridge to pull stuff out for breakfast. He decides to go easy, remembering that Bucky doesn’t usually eat a whole lot before he goes off to one of these appointments.

Steve puts together a frittata and a few other things and has everything ready just as Bucky comes into the kitchen. He sits down with a fond smile and tucks in. Steve inhales his own food and runs upstairs to shower and get dressed.

They’re both ready to go and only sort of hiding their shared nerves from each other when Bucky’s phone beeps at around eight thirty. He looks at it briefly and stands up. “Car’s here.”

“Okay. You got everything you need?”

Bucky looks around a little and shrugs. He grabs Steve’s hand and gives him a ghost of a grin. “Yep, all good.”

Steve can’t help but smile back, blushing. Bucky leans over and kisses his cheek, and tugs a bit at his hand. Steve follows him out of the house, locking up behind them.

There’s a discreet black sedan with heavily tinted windows waiting in the street. Bucky goes right up to it and opens the back door, sliding in. Steve follows him. Tony’s usual driver is in the front seat, and he twists around to look at them.

“Barnes, how’s it going?” he asks.

“Can’t complain, I guess,” Bucky replies. 

Happy smiles at him. “Woke up this side of the dirt, so I can’t either. Cap, you good? Hitchin’ a ride to the Tower?”

“Hi, Happy. Something like that.”

“All right, well. You two settle back, we’ll be there in… well, not no time, but we’ll get there.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says. He settles back into the seat and leans against Steve, slips his hand into Steve’s and gives it a little squeeze.

Happy talks off and on during the drive, but it’s just chatter and neither of them responds very much. Steve alternates between watching the city pass by outside the window and watching Bucky. Bucky mostly stares out the window and doesn’t seem to be paying attention to either of them, but he does hold Steve’s hand the whole way.

\--

Happy drives them down to some level of the garage or another, and lets them out of the car before driving off to wherever it is he needs to go. Bucky doesn’t seem phased by that, though, so Steve goes with it. He follows Bucky over to the elevator, which opens at their approach.

“Mr. Barnes,” Jarvis greets as the elevator doors shut behind them. “Captain Rogers. Good morning.”

“‘Mornin’ Jarvis,” Bucky replies. 

“He calls you Mister?” Steve murmurs to him, although he doesn’t pretend Jarvis can’t hear him ask.

Bucky shrugs. “Not in the army anymore. Wouldn’t be a sergeant even if i was. Didn’t feel right.” He glances over at Steve, as if looking for his reaction. 

Steve shrugs as well. “Technically I think I’m a commander now, but everyone still calls me captain.”

Bucky smiles a little. “Steve’s a commander. Cap is Cap, sweetheart.”

Steve makes a face, because Bucky’s right but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. “True.”

The elevator doors open again, on Tony’s lab. Steve can tell it’s Tony’s lab at a glance, because of the barely controlled chaos everywhere. He’s never spent much time in Tony’s lab, so he follows Bucky in while looking around in curiosity.

One of the robots trundles over, gesturing in what Steve can only assume is excitement, and gently grasps at Bucky’s metal arm. Bucky is smiling at it in bemusement. Steve can’t help but smile, too.

A voice rings out from somewhere in the lab, “Popsicles! You’re both here!”

Steve bristles, but does his best to tamp down on that. He’s here for Bucky. He’s meant to be a soothing presence for Bucky, and not snark at Tony. So he settles for rolling his eyes, and he keeps his mouth shut.

The look Bucky throws him tells him that, at the very least, Bucky is well aware that he’s biting his tongue. He feels an odd sort of pride. Steve of a few years ago wouldn’t have kept his trap shut. Steve of a couple decades ago definitely wouldn’t have kept his trap shut.

“Hi Tony,” Bucky says. He lets the robot lead him across the lab to where Tony is elbow deep in… something. Steve follows behind Bucky, still mostly ogling the lab.

“Ready to get started, Barnes?” Tony asks, standing up and dusting himself off. He starts casting around for something, and one of the other bots holds out a screwdriver. This part sounds to Steve like something of a routine. Bucky probably doesn’t have much patience for Tony dicking around when he’s supposed to be working on the arm. And Steve knows that this takes a big chunk of the day, just based on how long that he has always had to wait around for Bucky to get home again after one of these appointments.

“Thanks, You,” Tony mumbles to the bot. He makes a gesture towards one corner of the lab, where there’s a recliner and a work stool. Bucky nods at him and moves in that direction.

Steve blinks at that, but he supposes that it’s enough unlike the chair that HYDRA had used on Bucky that it might not trigger any bad memories for him. On his way across the lab, he grabs a desk chair and drags it with him so he has a place to sit.

He tries to get comfortable as best he can, and scoots the chair as close as he can manage to Bucky’s right side, while Tony sits on a stool and scoots closer to his left side.

Bucky leans back and shuts his eyes.

“Ready?” Tony asks. He glances up at Bucky, over at Steve, and taps the screwdriver on Bucky’s wrist.

Bucky nods. “Do it.”

Tony makes a face, glances at Steve again, and starts on the plates of the arm. He’s very gentle with the screwdriver, prying up a few of the plates and then murmuring, “Flex,” to Bucky.

Bucky flexes and the arm makes that whirring noise and all the plates shift and lift. 

Steve’s never seen his arm do that before. He looks on as much as he can as Tony starts adjusting and whatever else it is that he does to keep Bucky’s arm working properly and possibly from killing him.

Steve’s not sure about that last one. 

Time moves differently here in the lab, and Steve becomes aware of that very quickly. Or very slowly, he’s not sure. He watches Tony work, or he watches Bucky, who has his head pressed back into the chair and his eyes shut, his whole body thrumming with tension. For a bit he watches the robots trundle around the room on whatever tasks they are doing or possibly failing to do. He can’t really tell.

Still, it’s a surprise when Jarvis clears his throat and says, “Sir, I’ve taken the liberty of ordering lunch.”

Bucky opens his eyes and looks around, a little wild, a little confused. Tony looks up from his work and after a moment—clearly processing time—nods and sits back, twisting to stretch his back. 

“Yeah, okay. Food. We’re at a good point I guess.”

Bucky looks down at his arm, grimaces, and at a gesture from Tony flexes again so that the plates settle back into place. He puts the recliner back in its upright position and stands up, stretching his arms over his head. 

Steve hands him the cardigan he’s been holding for him, and takes a good look at Tony: dark shadows under his eyes, a kind of wild look about him, unwashed hair and possibly days old clothes. 

“Let’s go up to the common floor to eat,” he suggests.

Tony casts about for a moment, like he’s trying to come up with an excuse not to join them, but Steve turns on the Captain face and Tony slumps in defeat. He nods, and Steve does his best not to look smug.

Bucky makes a noise that Steve recognizes as a snicker, but doesn’t say anything.

“Pipe down, Red Menace,” Tony gripes. But he follows them out of the lab with relative equanimity, seeming to have accepted his fate.

“What’s for lunch, J?” He asks when they’re in the elevator.

“I decided to err on the side of caution ,” Jarvis replies, “and took the liberty of ordering burgers for everyone.”

Tony makes a noise that is damn near obscene, and Steve’s stomach rumbles at the thought. Bucky chuckles again, but Steve can tell he’s hungry too, or at least he’s very much ready for a break.

Lunch is waiting for them in the kitchen on the common floor, and they all grab at things and move to the table, sitting down. For several minutes, they pass food around between them and get started eating in silence.

Tony keeps giving them looks, though. Steve doesn’t know what is coming from him, precisely, but he’s pretty sure it’s going to annoy him.

Bucky heads him off before he can say anything though, with a simple question. “How’s Pepper?” he asks.

Tony looks at him in surprise, but then he shrugs. “She’s good. Pepper’s great. She’s in Malibu.”

Ah, Steve realizes. That would likely be the cause of the deep circles under Tony’s eyes, his general unkempt appearance. He wonders if there’s anything that can be done to convince Tony to try to get some sleep. They might butt heads, but Tony’s part of his team, and Steve worries.

“When’s she due home?” Bucky asks. His questions are gentle, curious. As if he’s just making conversation.

Tony shrugs again, takes a huge bite of his burger and chews through it, somehow thoughtful about it. 

Steve thinks maybe Bucky doesn’t usually talk to Tony much during these appointments. 

“End of the week, I think,” Tony supplies. As if he doesn’t know exactly when her plane is due to land, Steve suspects. He knows he would, if it were Bucky. He imagines Bucky feels the same way.

They’re all quiet for a few moments, before Bucky speaks again. “Not been sleeping good, huh?”

Tony glares at him. He doesn’t answer.

It’s Bucky’s turn to shrug. “I don’t sleep well, when Steve’s away. It’s tough.”

Did he just--?

Tony stares. Steve stares, too.

Under the table, Bucky knocks their knees together. 

\--

The rest of the maintenance on the arm takes up a solid portion of the afternoon, and as he’s finishing up Tony says, offhand like it’s no big deal, “I’ve been working on a design.”

Bucky sighs like he’s heard all this before. “Tony.”

“C’mon Barnes, lemme work on the prototype at least?”

Bucky sighs. “No, Tony.”

“It would be lighter.”

“No.”

“It would be--”

“Tony.”

Tony sighs and presses his lips together, but he doesn’t push any further. 

Steve holds his tongue. He’s never seen Tony quite like this, and he’s trying to remain as unobtrusive as he can because he’s pretty sure he’ll never see it again. He maintains his position next to Bucky, holding his hand, and he keeps his mouth shut.

He’s growing as a person.

He’d never have been able to do that when he’d first come out of the ice. All he and Tony had done back then was aggravate each other and pick at each other.

Things have calmed down considerably, for both of them.

And Steve feels like an entirely different person at this point. He might be an entirely different person now, here. With Bucky.

He feels like a different person. He feels like the person he used to be, only-- better. Better isn’t exactly the right word. He feels like maybe he would’ve been this person if he’d been born without all his ailments, and dirt poor with a single mom to boot. He feels like maybe if things had been a little different, and he and Bucky had never gone off to war after growing up together, maybe things would’ve been a little bit like they are now.

Maybe Steve would’ve felt this lightness he feels all the time, if--

But there’s no real point to thinking like that.

He’s here now, and so is Bucky. And he feels that lightness all the time. In the long run, it matters how he’d gotten here, how they’d gotten here. But more than that, it matters that they’re here together.

“Steve?”

Steve blinks and focuses on Bucky, who has a questioning look on his face, holding his hand, sitting forward in his recliner.

“Sorry, I was a million miles away.”

Bucky smiles at him. “Yeah. You ready to head out?”

“You’re done?”

“We’re done,” Tony interjects. “Try to convince your boyfriend to let me make him a new arm huh, Cap?”

Steve looks at him, and lets his expression turn disapproving. He’s good at disapproving. Well. He was always good at disapproving, it just has a better effect now that he’s also Captain America. “That’s his choice, Tony.” He won’t force any decisions on Bucky, and he hopes that Bucky knows that.

Bucky squeezes his hand, and Steve knows that he knows.

Tony pouts, but he waves them off and heads off elsewhere in the lab, one of the bots trundling after him.

The other one grabs Bucky’s metal hand again, making sad noises as they head towards the elevator, Bucky apologizing to it and telling it he’ll be back the whole way across the lab. Steve knows they all have names, but he can’t tell them apart, and he doesn’t know if he should feel guilty about that or not.

“See you next time!” Tony hollers just as they’re getting in the elevator. Bucky waves without really looking for where Tony is. Steve cranes a little, but all he sees is the clutter and the bot heading across the room, beeping sadly.

Jarvis greets them again in the elevator, and takes the liberty of taking them back down to the same level of garage they’d started from. Happy is waiting in the car for them, looking at his phone.

“Good day, boss?” Happy is asking Bucky as Steve slides into the car behind him. 

“Can’t complain,” Bucky replies. This seems like a conversation they’ve had before.

“Sure you can, but you won’t.”

“But I won’t,” Bucky mumbles in reply. He pulls Steve close and wraps both of his arms around Steve’s arm. Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s leg, and Steve shuts his eyes as they leave the garage into the late afternoon light.

Bucky is quiet the whole drive home, leaning against Steve with his head on his shoulder. Steve leans his head against Bucky’s, and just holds him, until they’re almost home. He speaks up then, because he’s getting hungry and he knows that his stomach is going to making itself heard soon enough.

“Want me to order us some dinner?”

Bucky shrugs against him, but then makes an “mm” sound. After another minute or so he says, “Sushi?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Steve pulls out his phone and opens the delivery app that has Bucky’s favorite sushi place on it (he has all the delivery apps. Honestly, one of his favorite things about living in the future is all the food.

His other favorite thing is Bucky, but that probably goes without saying.

He orders an obscene amount of sushi to be delivered and puts his phone away. 

“Done,” he murmurs into Bucky’s hair. Bucky nods.

Soon enough, Happy is pulling up in front of their house, and Steve is following Bucky out of the car and into the house. 

Bucky goes straight to the couch in the living room and curls up in a corner, pulling one of the blankets that’s always on the couch over himself and then making grabby hands at Steve. 

“Come sit with me,” he says.

Steve obeys. He crowds into Bucky and puts his arms around him and holds him close. He presses his face to Bucky’s neck and breathes him in. After a few minutes, Bucky shifts and puts his arms around Steve and they sit like that until the sushi arrives. Even then, Bucky seems reluctant to let go of Steve so he can go answer the door for their food.

He brings the food back to the couch, knowing full well that Bucky isn’t going to want to get up off the couch except to go to bed. It’s still far too early for that, though. He puts the bags of food on the coffee table and pulls it closer to the couch as he sits down. Steve takes all of the little trays of sushi out of the bag, along with the little containers of soy and wasabi and ginger. He hands Bucky the seaweed salad he’d ordered for him, and a pair of chopsticks. He grabs the spicy tuna roll for himself, and sits back to start eating.

When Bucky has finished his salad, he holds out the empty container to Steve. He pouts when Steve gives him a “really?” type of look, but Steve only hesitates for a moment before he puts down his own food to take the container from Bucky. He drops it on the table and grabs one of the cooked rolls for Bucky.

“Soy?” he asks.

Bucky shakes his head, and Steve hands him the roll. Bucky shifts a bit and puts his legs across Steve’s lap. Steve grunts a bit at the knees in the stomach he gets when he reaches to pick his food up again, but he doesn’t push Bucky off.

They make their way through the sushi in this manner, trading the rolls Steve had picked out for them to share between them. A lot of the basics he’d just ordered two of so they could both have their own. A few he’d ordered three or even four of. He sort of shrugs at himself when he thinks about it. They’re good. They’re their favorites.

Steve eats until he’s stuffed, and from the looks of him Bucky does the same. When they’re both finally finished, Steve pushes the table away with his feet, and stretches out as best he can with Bucky’s legs still across his lap.

“Ugh, I’m stuffed,” he mumbles, rubbing his stomach. 

Bucky nods his agreement, and pushes at Steve with one foot.

“Stop,” Steve protests. Being jostled by Bucky is wonderful but he’s too full to deal with it. “Stop, Buck.”

Bucky stops, but he sits up a little. “Lay down?”

Steve nods, but Bucky doesn’t move at all. After a moment, Steve looks at him expectantly. “You gotta get up if I’m gonna lay down, Buck.”

Bucky grumbles, but he does stand up. Steve follows suit long enough to stretch himself out on the couch. He fumbles around a minute for the remote and flips the TV on, and Bucky waits til he’s done before he straddles Steve’s thighs and gently lowers himself on top of Steve. 

They both wriggle a little, getting comfortable, and Steve puts his arms around Bucky, sighing happily into the contact, the weight of him. 

They spend the rest of the evening like that, spread out together on the couch, TV on in the background while they just exist together, holding on to each other and breathing together. They stay on the couch much later than they usually do, but Steve feels like it’s the right thing to do. He feels like Bucky needs this.

\--

Bucky’s the one who lifts his head and crosses his eyes at Steve and says, “Bedtime?”

Steve pats his back, but he’s smiling at Bucky’s silly, hopeful expression. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Bucky rubs his face on Steve’s chest for a moment, and then he levers himself up to his hands and knees. He pauses there, hair hanging down around his face like a curtain. He smiles that same soft smile that makes Steve’s heart skip a beat every time, and leans down to press a quick kiss to his lips. Then he straightens up the rest of the way and stands. He holds out a hand and helps Steve to his feet. He doesn’t let go when Steve is standing. 

Steve follows him upstairs.

They part ways at the top of the stairs, Bucky heading down the hall to his room to get night clothes, Steve supposes. He goes into his own room and into the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash some water on his face before bed.

Nightwear for him lately has been his underwear and a t-shirt; he sleeps warm on his own and having Bucky and his preference for many blankets in bed with him only makes him warmer. He wants to be able to sleep but he is loathe to ask Bucky to abandon any of his creature comforts, so he’s just been sleeping progressively nakeder as the weather has gotten warmer.

Tonight he’s feeling a little frisky—though he’s aware that Bucky is not at that stage of comfort with things just yet and he has no intention of doing more than just sleeping—so he loses the shirt too.

Steve climbs into bed on his side and picks up his book from the nightstand. He flips open to his page and starts to read, making sure he’s holding the book low enough that Bucky will notice that he’s bare-chested when he comes into the room. Hopefully.

Not for any particular reason, though.

Bucky comes in a few minutes later. Steve doesn’t even notice until he realizes that he’s stopped just inside the door, and he’s staring.

Steve glances at him, and goes back to reading. Well, he goes back to moving his eyes across the page, but he’s mostly watching Bucky in his peripheral vision.

“Hey, Buck,” he says, nonchalant. He tries not to preen. He tries very hard not to preen, but he wants to, he wants Bucky to look at him (more than look at him), he wants to show off and flex and it’s so hard not to. He keeps watching Bucky out of the corner of his eye while--as far as Steve can tell--his brain comes back online.

Steve speaking to him seems to give him the little jolt he needs, because as he watches, Bucky shakes himself and pulls his own shirt off, dropping it on the floor as he crosses from the door to his side of the bed.

“I know what you’re doing, Stevie,” Bucky says as he gets himself situated in bed.

Steve grins down at his book. “What am I doing?”

“Tempting me,” Bucky mutters.

Steve looks over at him. “Is it working?”

Bucky huffs and glares and reaches out for Steve. “Yes. Lay down now please.”

Steve laughs, sheer joy, and puts his book back on the nightstand. He turns out the light and scoots down in bed, turning on his side towards Bucky at the same time Bucky is grabbing for him. 

Acres of skin. He’s got miles of it, and it’s all pressed against Steve. Bucky tangles their legs together and presses his face to Steve’s neck and Steve thinks it’ll be years before he falls asleep with Bucky pressed against him soft and warm and bare-chested, it will be decades, he may never sleep again.

But he’s asleep in minutes, barely enough time to even enjoy Bucky’s soft skin pressed against his own.

\--

He wakes up at about the same time he normally does, little spoon in front of Bucky, whose arms are around him and holding him snug. He doesn’t want to get up just yet, but he knows how he gets when he doesn’t run for a few days, and he doesn’t want to do that to Bucky, or himself. So he takes a few minutes to lay abed and enjoy being held by Bucky, the sense of safety and peace, and then he slowly starts to extricate himself.

Bucky grumbles in his sleep, but he lets go of Steve. When Steve is out of bed, Bucky rolls forward into his spot, tugging the blankets over his head and grumbling a little more as he settles into the bed.

Steve dresses slowly, feeling dreamy and light as he pulls running shorts and a compression shirt out of a drawer, a pair of socks, his sneakers.

That dream-like quality sticks with him through his whole run, pleasant and warm. About halfway through his normal route, he starts daydreaming about spending the whole morning in bed with Bucky again, necking like they did the other day, and he cuts things short and heads home.

Bucky is still in bed when he gets home, and Steve does a little internal dance of joy when he discovers this. He rummages through his drawers for clean undies and heads into the bathroom to take a quick shower.

He showers in about five minutes, and he doesn’t even bother picking up his discarded workout clothes to put them in the hamper in his haste to crawl back into bed with Bucky.

Bucky smiles at him as he pulls back the covers and opens his arms to him. Steve lays down and scoots forward until they’re skin to skin again. Bucky puts his arms around Steve’s neck and tugs him close. 

“Miss me that much, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. It hits him, just how much he had missed Bucky, like a punch in the gut. The best kind of punch to the gut. “I really did.”

Bucky nuzzles close to him, making happy noises, and Steve sighs and relaxes. He lets his mind wander, and runs his hands up and down the soft skin of Bucky’s back. 

When he comes back to himself, from wherever his mind had wandered off to, Bucky’s lips are pressed soft against the curve of his jaw.

Something must alert Bucky that he’s aware again, because he murmurs “there you are,” against that bit of skin. 

“Sorry, I was just--” he doesn’t know how to end that sentence. He doesn’t really know where he was.

“I know,” Bucky murmurs, still against Steve’s jaw. It’s maddening, distracting, arousing.

He leans back and looks at Steve. “C’mon, let’s get up, sweetheart. I think I’m hungry.”

And how can Steve deny Bucky when he is expressing a need, a want? He can’t. He won’t. Even if he had maybe hoped to spend the morning necking again.

Reluctant, Steve lets go of Bucky, who rolls over and stretches before he stands up. Steve stretches out for a moment, and gets up to find some clothes. Bucky shuffles off down the hall for a few minutes, coming back with a shirt on and his favorite cardigan, taking Steve’s hand when Steve joins him in the hall and heading downstairs to the kitchen.

Steve gets the coffee pot started brewing when they get to the kitchen, while Bucky starts pulling things out of the fridge to put together breakfast for both of them.

“Remind me to order groceries later, Stevie,” he says from the depths of the refrigerator.

“Order groceries later, Buck,” Steve intones. But he makes a mental note to bring it up later, too.

“Smartass.”

“Your smartass,” Steve points out, and Bucky pulls his head out of the fridge to smile at him.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “You are.”

Steve blushes, he can’t help it. Bucky chuckles and goes back to his breakfast prep. Bucky’s got his number, and he knows it. 

Steve gets out plates and sets the table, but he tries not to get too much in Bucky’s way; Bucky had his breakfast prep down to a science. Steve loves watching him.

Today though, he’s feeling the need to be near Bucky, as near as Bucky will allow, so he gives up watching in favor of crossing the room to drape himself all over him. He seems a little surprised at first, but he adjusts his stance to take some of Steve’s weight and keeps working, humming a little in what Steve interprets as pleasure. Steve puts his arms around Bucky’s waist, watching their eggs cook and enjoying the closeness.

Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. He pats at Steve’s hands around his waist when he needs to move around the kitchen, maybe expecting him to let go and let Bucky move, but Steve has no trouble just. Moving around the kitchen with him. The first time, Bucky giggles the whole time, as Steve somehow manages to match his steps to Bucky’s and just moves with him. 

Steve doesn’t know quite how he’s managing it, but he doesn't think about it too hard, because he knows that would ruin it. 

They continue like that until the food is ready; only then does Steve relinquish his embrace of Bucky in favor of taking a seat at the table and eating with him.

Bucky keeps watching him as they eat. He’s giving him a look. Steve doesn’t quite know what it means, it’s a little bit calculating. Like he’s planning something.

“Anything going on today?” he asks, as he’s finishing up. He sits back with his cup of coffee.

Bucky mirrors him, sitting back with his own coffee. He shakes his head. He’s still got that look on his face. Assessing. Deciding something.

“Nothing planned,” he says, eventually. “Thinkin’ about being sweet on my fella for a while, at some point.”

Steve flushes. “Oh,” he says. It comes out a croak. “That sounds nice.”

Bucky grins at him, sly and mischievous.

Steve tries to will his flush down, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t succeed. He clears his throat. “So uh. Any timeframe on when you might be sweet on your fella for a while?”

Bucky shrugs. He just looks smug now. “No real timeframe. Figured I’d wait til the mood strikes.”

Steve only barely manages to hold on to the sound that wants to come out of his mouth: a thing that would probably be somewhere between a groan and a whine. Bucky absolutely has his number, and he knows it too. They both do.

Most of the day passes in a haze of lust for Steve. It’s not that he wants sex, although he certainly wants that too. It’s mostly just that he craves Bucky’s touch. He craves the nearness, and his skin, his breath.

He enjoys it at the same time as it eats at him; he must be some kind of masochist (he’s certain Bucky would think so, for one reason and another).

Steve sticks close to him while he goes about his day. He might be following him around like a puppy. He might be close to begging. But he does his best not to give in to the temptation. He can wait. He’s on Bucky’s schedule.

They’ve got all the time in the world.

It’s only been recently that Steve has really started to feel like that. Like they do have time. Time to enjoy each other, to get to know each other again, anew. It’s a heady feeling, and sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with the joy of it.

But then Bucky banishes every one of those thoughts from his head by plopping down next to him on the couch--where had he been and how had Steve not noticed that he was gone--and pulls him into a kiss, licking into his mouth after only a moment and swallowing Steve’s moan, pulling him in with all of his considerable strength and yeah, this is better than thinking about how happy he’s been.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/BelovedMuerto), or [dreamwidth](https://belovedmuerto.dreamwidth.org), or [tumblr](http://www.belovedmuerto.tumblr.com) i guess.


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